Guilt and a Smile
by dragoon811
Summary: A tale maturing with Severus and Hermione, as she saves him, and they learn to fall in love. UPDATE: New Chapter (19)! Sorry for the wait :(
1. Chapter 1: Severus

Author's Note: This will, eventually, be SSHG. But it has to start with Lily, doesn't it? I cannot guarantee on updates, I will warn you now. This is going to be a few little glimpses at first, until around the final battle, when it will hopefully, assuming I keep writing, blossom into the tale it's supposed to be.

I do not in any way, shape, or form own Harry Potter, aside from awesome merchandise. I am merely playing with them, and, frankly, this damn story's been in my head too long.

* * *

CHAPTER 1

He knew he hadn't been invited. But this was important...it didn't matter if she married _him_ or not. It mattered that she was happy.

And, selfishly, he wanted a place in her life again. He wanted her to be in his life again. Something, anything, for someone who wanted him. She'd wanted him, once...hadn't expected anything from him, wanted anything... he'd ruined it, but he could fix it.

He'd watched the people enter the church, stared at the heavy wooden doors across the street as the faint strains of music filtered out. It didn't surprise him that she'd embraced so much of her muggle upbringing on this day. She'd talked for years about her dreams. He'd even chosen the card in his hand specifically.

He'd been working so hard to get her approval. Even if she'd given up on him, he thought...he'd thought that maybe he could _finally_ fix things, now they'd been out of school a while. It wouldn't do to go into the church and watch the ceremony, no matter how his heart hurt. He needed..._needed_ to hear that prat promise to protect her.

Lucius wanted him to join Him. Oh, he'd thought about it. But he could still fix things, couldn't he? So he'd worked harder. He'd accepted Lucius' offers to fund his apprenticeship. And he'd breezed through it. He was the youngest Master in centuries. Surely that had to count for something? It didn't matter that no one else had cared or congratulated him for it – surely Lily would.

The bells pealed, and he rolled his sleeves up, nervous. He would smile, smile and congratulate them both. That would do it, wouldn't it?

The doors opened and – _oh, she was radiant, so beautiful, but not for him, not for him, she's his now and that's alright, she's happy_ – and she looked up, saw him...

He smiled tentatively. He didn't even look at Potter.

And so much anger and shock and hatred and rejection filled her eyes he was taken aback. _She still hates me._

_She __**hates**__ me._

_She hates __**me**__._

**She hates me.**

He swallowed, his face going blank as his Occlumency walls slammed into place, nostrils flaring and teeth clenching, refusing to cry or show pain in front of Potter. Dropping the card he'd crinkled as his fists clenched, he turned and disapparated with a crack.

**She hates me.**

* * *

That night, he would drink. Drink like he'd sworn he never would. Drink like his father. Anything to numb the pain, to make the memory stop replaying behind his eyes.

It would be Lucius who would find him, pour him into his shabby bed in his shabby house.

It would be that hurt, that rejection, that fucking bottle of liquor that weakened him, made him cave.

No one wanted him. No one respected him. No one thought him worthwhile.

No one except the man calling himself Lord Voldemort and selecting, as Lucius put it, only the best.

And the Dark Lord wanted him and his skills and he had the _perfect_ gift for Him, to show Him he was worthy.

* * *

All his fault. Oh, Merlin, all his fault.

* * *

_Let me die. _

_Please kill me. I don't deserve this. _

_Oh, please kill me, end this...it's more than I deserve. Please, please just kill me..._

* * *

Severus finished placing the last of his memories in the pensieve. The boy would be coming today. He couldn't let anything show. He had to hide it.

He'd hidden everything successfully from Albus thus far, and he would not –_ could not – _risk this now. Anger was easiest. It was expected of him by now.

Deep breath. Walls up. He kept them up day and night, now. Not a single crack.

* * *

_Fucking boy, going missing with a troll on the loose... _Potter would be the death of him.

* * *

_Fucking Quirrel._

His walls held, and fear raced through his blood as he mouthed the counter.

_Why the fuck did I leave my wand in my quarters? Oh, it's just a Quidditch match, no need to bring it... if something DOES happen, Albus won't let anything happen to his precious Potter..._

_Fucking Quirrel._

Merlin, he needed to blink.

_Don't blink. Fucking Quirrel. _

How the bloody hell was Quirrel, of all people, maintaining this power? Quirrel wasn't this strong.

_Fucking Quirrel. Fucking – Fu-FIRE!_

His walls held, even as he stamped out the flames and looked back to the stadium. The boy was fine, thank Merlin.

* * *

Relief, swift and bitter and agonizing. The boy was safe.

His walls held.

It was over, for the year... Potter would go home, be safe behind the blood wards, if unhappy.

* * *

A tentative knock on his office door and he glanced up from the parchment he was hunched over.

"Excuse me, please, Professor Snape."

His eyes narrowed and he straightened consciously. "What is it, Miss Granger?"

The bushy-haired girl smiled at him nervously. "Thank you for teaching us, sir. I really enjoyed your class."

She bit her lip, smiled again. "Have a nice summer, sir."

His lips twitched into a near-smile, and he was certain he looked rather shocked.

His walls shattered.

* * *

SSHGSSHGSSHGSSHG

Let me say now – this is not going to start when she's under age. Romantic feelings won't come into play for a while, on either side. Here's to hoping I'm motivated to write more soon. :)

EDIT: I suck at apparently checking that didn't eat my chapter layout. Oops.


	2. Chapter 2: Hermione

Author's Note: This will, eventually, be SSHG. I cannot guarantee on updates, I will warn you now. This is going to be a few little glimpses at first, until around the final battle, when it will hopefully, assuming I keep writing, blossom into the tale it's supposed to be.

I do not in any way, shape, or form own Harry Potter, aside from awesome merchandise. I am merely playing with them, and, frankly, this damn story's been in my head too long.

* * *

CHAPTER 2

Her parents were quite indulgent about the whole thing, she knew. The idea was laughable, a bookworm like their Hermione possessing any sort of strange powers.

But _she_ knew she did. And the plump, kind woman sitting in her living room knew it, too.

* * *

She couldn't wait to start! Diagon Alley had been fantastic. The feel of her first wand in her hand, the tingle of _magic-_!

And the books.

Next year, she could leave behind the teasing and the bullies. No more being the smartest person in class and mocked. No more derision. No more judgment. No more awkwardness. Surely, if she were _magical_, the other witches and wizards would be as smart as her, too! She wouldn't be alone. She would have books _and_ friends _and_ magic. Everything would be wonderful in her new world.

She threw herself into studying her new books. She wouldn't be able to go for almost a year – 11 and the school year had already begun!

But she could study. And learn. Even better, since she hadn't actually _started_ school, she could practise, quietly and secretly, at home.

The teasing and bullying at school got worse, but she brushed it off. It didn't matter. Soon she would leave. She would know everything everyone else already knew. She wouldn't let down the wonderful gift of her magic by not learning everything she could about it.

* * *

The platform had been crowded, and she'd been torn between excitement at joining what she saw as her world and worry at leaving her bemused parents.

They'd been terribly patient with her, buying her more and more books from jaunts to Diagon Alley as rewards for her grades.

She threw herself at them for one final hug, and, beaming, waved as she boarded the train.

* * *

It was a strange thing, she thought, to be so wrong.

She was still the smartest. Knowing everything made it _worse_, not better. She still didn't fit in.

She just wanted to be accepted, was that so hard? Sometimes, she should have let the hat put her in Ravenclaw, but they didn't like her, either. She was _too _smart.

She remembered her parents and felt like crying. She held it back. They were proud of her for being intelligent. It wasn't a bad thing, she reminded herself. It won't matter when you're all grown up.

At least teachers were the same as ever. They were excellent teachers (even Professor Snape – he wasn't nice, but he definitely pushed them to do their best). They (mostly) liked her. They were easy to respect, and intelligent (even if the stuttering of Professor Quirrel did grate on her on double DADA days), and easy to give her trust to. She hadn't been pushed into walls or her things stolen like her muggle school.

* * *

Oh, that hurt. Two months of trying to make friends and be accepted. Two months of living in a dorm with some of the most shallow, self-absorbed girls. Two months of trying. Two months of teachers doting (minus one, but that just made her try harder). Two months of being mocked behind her back.

And today was just the crux of it all.

She broke down and cried. No one would miss her at the feast.

It wasn't until she came out of the stall and saw the troll that she thought no one would miss her at all as the she screamed.

_Oh, God... I don't want to die!_

* * *

_Honestly! I can't believe those boys!_ Her thoughts distracted her from sleep. _No, Professor Snape doesn't like Harry, but that's no reason not to trust the man! He's a teacher! Not a very nice one, but he must be very lonely. I don't think he has any friends._

* * *

It was an odd thing, to have your beliefs crashing down on you, Hermione thought. A _teacher_ trying to harm a student. But she could see him herself. She'd read all about jinxes, and he wasn't blinking, focused entirely on her friend.

She didn't think as she ran through the stands. Teachers didn't do this! Teachers were to be trusted! He wasn't a nice man, but he'd never shown himself to be a bad one, regardless of what Ron and Harry said. Didn't Ron's siblings make it through his classes just fine? God knew she wanted to hurt his twin brothers sometimes. She'd never heard even a whisper of Professor Snape hurting a student. Assigning horrific detentions, yes. Bleeding red ink all over essays, yes. Spewing vitriol at them, yes. But until now, she never would have believed it of him, of any teacher.

It was with a deep breath and a loss of naivety that she whispered the incantation that set fire to his robes. Not the hurt him, just distract him...

* * *

The guilt was overwhelming, when all was said and done, Hermione thought, as she watched an unconscious Harry get patched up by Madam Pomfrey.

She'd judged him too quickly. Granted, she'd never considered that Professor Quirrel would do something so horrible, either...

But she should have had faith. The Headmaster had said to trust Professor Snape, and she hadn't.

She nibbled on her lip. She wanted to apologize, but was afraid of the repercussions. She might have had to explain that she'd set his robe on fire! Worse, she knew he didn't regard her very highly as it was...and didn't want to hurt his feelings by apologizing for not trusting him.

She would have to think on it. Find someone to show him she was sorry.

But right then, Hermione Granger swore to always trust Professor Severus Snape.

* * *

It was the last day – that afternoon, they would board the Hogwarts Express back to London, and she would spend her summer catching up on her muggle schooling, as she'd promised her parents.

She still hadn't thought of a way to apologize to her Professor, and it weighed heavily on her.

It would be a small gesture, Hermione thought, but maybe it would help, to thank him first.

She wasn't certain, either, if thanking teachers at the end of the school year was a practice in the wizarding world, as it was in the muggle, but it certainly couldn't hurt.

Besides, it was polite.

Her thoughts chased her all the way to the dungeons, and she stood outside Professor Snape's office, eyeing the ajar door for several moments before knocking tentatively.

"Excuse me, please, Professor Snape." She twisted her fingers together as he narrowed his eyes at her.

"What is it, Miss Granger?" He sounded impatient

She smiled, hoping it didn't look as nervous as she felt. "Thank you for teaching us, sir. I really enjoyed your class."

She bit her lip, and tried a smiled again. "Have a nice summer, sir."

Then something she'd never seen happened - he smiled, well, more of a twitch of his lips, and even that looked almost against his will. He looked utterly gobsmacked and she darted out of the room.

_God,_ she thought, _it's as if no one has ever said "thank you" to him before._

The thought struck her mid-step and she faltered. _Maybe no one has..._

And with the memory of that surprised smile, she went to gather her things. She did not thank any of her other professors, and left the school with a light heart.

* * *

SSHGSSHGSSHG

Whoohoo! Two chapters. They're about on the same page, now. Hope you enjoyed. :)

Also - many thanks to xpage394x for telling me to write it, as well as to my friend Staci for telling me to get to outlining months ago. :-P


	3. Chapter 3: The Letter

Author's Note: This will, eventually, be SSHG. I cannot guarantee on updates, I will warn you now. This is going to be a few little glimpses at first, until around the final battle, when it will hopefully, assuming I keep writing, blossom into the tale it's supposed to be.

I do not in any way, shape, or form own Harry Potter, aside from awesome merchandise. I am merely playing with them, and, frankly, this damn story's been in my head too long.

* * *

CHAPTER 3

The parchment was faded and soft now, barely a crackle as he unfolded it. It was probably foolish of him to keep reading it over and over– hell, it was a risk, these days.

But a risk he needed.

He wanted to smooth the creases where he'd clenched it in his fist when he'd first received it, but knew by now it was hopeless. He wanted to preserve it with a charm, keep the letter safe from the encroach of time and wear, but knew the traces of magic would make it easier to track if someone wanted to find any "incriminating evidence".

Actually, he couldn't for the life of him figure out why some wizards were so bloody stupid – they put their precious things in Gringotts, but the things they wished to keep secret, they layered with charms and wards.

It was like a flashing neon sign (much like the one from bar his father had favored, once the mills had closed), saying "Look here! A secret!"

Which was why this letter was in his pocket, worn soft and marred with folds, and the rest of his treasures were in a box under a floorboard in his bedroom. Why ward and charm his few precious things and invite trouble? Breaking a board and a quick Reparo after was much more secretive. No one would know, or even to think about a wizard using muggle means of concealment.

Long fingers caressed the words written in tiny, cramped, familiar handwriting.

_"Dear Professor Snape;_

_You left this year before I could thank you for another year of teaching. I have enjoyed your Defense class very much; you have been the best Professor we've had, I think._

_Please don't let Professor Lupin know I said that, it would hurt his feelings terribly._

_I wish you hadn't had to go, but I understand why. Harry says you _(here, there was a blotch of ink, where she'd obviously hesitated over her words)_ he says you killed Professor Dumbledore, sir._

_Sir, you have been quite an enigma over the years, and I do not think you would do such a thing coldly, the way Harry says. I believe you are still on our side, and I want to help you if I can; I haven't said a thing to anyone, I promise._

_Please, sir, I will be at Headquarters tomorrow night, from 6 to 10. I will be alone, I promise. Please, prove me right, sir._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione Granger"_

It wasn't the most eloquent correspondence from Miss Granger he'd received, but it'd come so mean a great deal to him.

He hadn't gone to Grimmauld; he hadn't dared. One rather grey scrying spell had revealed that she was, indeed, alone in the sitting room there, with no one else in the house. Even that odious house elf had found somewhere else to be. Rather daring of her, actually, to arrange a clandestine meeting with a Death Eater and now-murderer.

He'd held the spell the entire time, watching her go from anxious, to restless, to wandering into the library and returning with a book, to when she left at 11.

She'd waited. She'd believed in him, and Severus hadn't been surprised to find that cutting the silly girl off this way had hurt. He'd resigned himself to being alone at the end. Albus had set him up to take the fall, all for the Greater Good, and he'd gone along with it.

That he had given up the chance of having even a single ally had hurt him deeply, to know just how alone he would be. No allies. No friends. Just one single letter that he wouldn't likely keep; too risky.

* * *

So when she'd showed up at his doorstep the next night, he'd been rather surprised, to say the least.

* * *

So, apologies for the whole "long breaks between updates thing". Not that a reader particularly cares (I mean, it's usually about the story, not the person behind it!), but I've had crazy days at work, moved from Canada to California, and gotten engaged (yay!). I have been writing and outlining, but I have been writing out of order. (Bad habit).

I figured until I can gather the pages of the real chapter together that this little teaser would suffice.

Hope you enjoyed, and I wish you all a Happy Halloween!


	4. Chapter 4: Perfume and Hope

Author's Note: This will, eventually, be SSHG. I cannot guarantee on updates, I will warn you now. This is going to be a few little glimpses at first, until around the final battle, when it will hopefully, assuming I keep writing, blossom into the tale it's supposed to be.

I do not in any way, shape, or form own Harry Potter, aside from awesome merchandise. I am merely playing with them, and, frankly, this damn story's been in my head too long.

NOTICE: I've changed my pen name from Honoo Moeru to dragoon811, as this is the name I use elsewhere. :)

* * *

CHAPTER 4

"He could smell my perfume", Hermione said softly after the Snatchers had departed, rather disconcerted.

Harry looked at her strangely. "I haven't noticed any perfume, Hermione."

She smiled wanly at him. "You're probably just used to it, Harry. I've worn it for ages now."

Harry nodded and pulled on her arm, guiding her back to their tent and she toyed with the end of her scarf, remembering just who had given her that perfume in the first place.

* * *

Looking back, it would have seemed much more dramatic if it'd been raining when she'd knocked on his door, Severus mused. Instead, the little girl who'd shattered his mental walls with such a small thing as thanking him was standing on his doorstep, twisting her fingers nervously.

"Good evening, Professor," Hermione said softly.

It took him a moment of staring before he grabbed her arm and dragged her inside. "What in the devil are you doing here? How in Merlin's name did you even _find_me?"

She wrenched her arm out of his grasp and hugged him fiercely.

The little chit _hugged_ him.

The words "I found you in the phone book" were muffled into his frock coat, but he heard them nonetheless.

Severus pulled away. "Are you mad, Granger?!"

"I knew I could trust you," Hermione replied. "You didn't come and I knew it."

"Stop babbling, and get out." His words were clipped. She shouldn't be here. She thought she knew, and that was dangerous.

He wished he drank. This would be easier if he could mimic one of his father's towering rages, frighten her away.

He blinked as he realised Granger was standing closer now, how did she get so damn close?

* * *

Hermione's eyes shone with triumph and relief. She had never been so glad to have been proven right in her life.

"I was worried you _would_ show up," she told him. "I was ever so happy to be proven right – not that I'll tell the boys, of course."

He glared at her. "Get. To. The. Point."

Severus fought the urge to draw his wand. Why in Merlin's name did the little chit trust him? He'd gone and killed Albus Fucking Dumbledore – in _front _of Saint Potter, thank you for _that_ little treat, Albus -

She interrupted his train of thought. "You're on our side, and I want to help."

His lip curled into a familiar, disdainful sneer. "And what, Miss Granger, makes you think I'm on your side?"

* * *

Hermione sat on her cot in the tent, wondering how Professor Snape was doing. After his bluster and anger had run out, he'd given in. She didn't think he'd noticed that she'd taken an Elixir of Confidence (it had a very definite smell on one's breath, but she'd drank some rather disgusting coffee after to mask it. Terrible stuff.) - she had been convinced she was right, but absolutely _terrified._

She'd convinced him of what she already know – obviously, he hadn't wanted to. He'd made her take a wand oath to not reveal anything, except under certain conditions. He'd strongly hinted that he'd wanted _her_ to make an Unbreakable Vow, to ensure her silence, but there was no one he could trust to witness it.

Except for people who were dead, of course.

Poor Professor Snape. _He must be so lonely_, Hermione thought, smiling at Harry as they started to make a rather poor dinner of spaghetti. She was running out of supplies and funds. Well, she had some funds; but those were a last-ditch resort, the money to get the three of them out of England and across to the rest of Europe.

_I'm lonely, too_.

She remembered swearing her oath, and agreeing to the conditions. She remembered that there was something Harry needed to know, but that she couldn't tell him, and wouldn't be _able_ to tell him unless Professor Snape could not do it himself.

She'd promised Professor Snape to find a way to help him, to pass him information if she could, so he'd know where they were in things. They'd talked for a very long time, and he'd told her what he could, passed along warnings.

She'd been glad of the warnings – she was ready to defend herself when they'd removed Harry from Privet Drive. Hermione was certain that if she hadn't known she'd have been twice as scared. Snape – _Professor_ Snape, she reminded herself. She may not be able to respect him in front of the boys, but she damn well would inside her own head – had seemed to be...well, relieved.

He'd given her a rather handy collection of potions to round out what she already had, including the dittany that'd patched up Ron's splinched arm, and then... he'd asked handed her a little vial of perfume.

* * *

"Perfume?" Hermione asked curiously, looking at the little stoppered vial.

"In a way," Severus replied wearily. He'd be glad to have an ally in Granger, and a backup, of sorts. She'd shaken off the fog of the spells she'd allow him to lay on her with admirable speed. "It's more of an...essence. You won't be able to stay at Grimmauld forever. And if you must leave, you have a plan?"

"Yes, I have a tent, and - "

"Good." He cut her off before she could give him a bloody inventory. "This is a mixture I use to mask my own scent when I need to gather ingredients. If creatures, or Fenrir, are near, they won't smell a human, just plants, what they think should be there. Wear it. Just you. "

"Why not all of us?"

"I don't have enough, and if one of you wears it, it'll cover whatever area you're in. Further more..." he reached out a slender finger and tapped the vial. "I made it. I used herbs that smell normal...but not if you know what you're looking for. If I need to come to you, I will be able to find you, no matter what wards you use."

Severus looked at her, considering, hesitating.

"Miss Granger... if all should be lost, and you need a place to run, return here."

"I have a place to g-"

"You misunderstood. If _all_," he emphasized, meaning if Potter failed or was killed; her eyes widened with realization. "If _all_ is lost, return here."

"Yes, sir..." she swept her lashes down, turning the little vial in her hand. "And, sir... if _you_ need a place..."

She stepped closer and, rising on tiptoe for her lips to brush his ear, whispered the address of her parents' home. She drew back, and offered him a timid smile.

"Now get out." He seemed to stiffen and draw himself up, looking down at her imperiously.

"Yes, sir." Hermione didn't say goodbye and didn't turn back.

* * *

When she'd finished cleaning up after dinner, Harry was playing with that mirror shard again.

"I'm surprised you haven't cut yourself yet," she said teasingly. Harry looked as pale and drawn as Professor Snape had, just as worried, just as...well, stretched thin.

Harry looked up at her with a tired, empty expression, and she felt Ron's loss more keenly.

She missed Ron – he was their friend, and he'd left... understandable, with all the stress. She left what indications she could at each of their stops so he could maybe follow, or at least know they were still alright. She _really _hoped he'd find them - Harry, at least, needed him. Ron...well, Ron needed to be needed, in her opinion. And sitting around doing nothing grated on him.

But they needed him – Harry needed Ron's friendship to get through this. And a way to get rid of the bloody necklace.

Hermione was just one girl. She couldn't do this alone.

Like poor Professor Snape.

* * *

"They're alright, so far," Phineas Nigellus said scornfully from the wall.

Severus looked up from his desk, exhausted, tossing his hair, more lank that normal, behind his shoulder. The circles under his eyes were deeper these days. He spent his days trying to catch up on brewing for the infirmary (Slughorn couldn't be bothered in his prime, and now he was actually attempting to wrangle Slytherin house) and watching over the students, and his nights were spent patrolling under Disillusion, intervening where he could.

It was exhausting, taking punishment for the rebellion, trying to encourage that same rebellion, and reassigning detentions... he was thinner than ever, his wrist bones sharp under the layers of wool and linen.

"You need rest," Albus said softly, quelling Phineas with a rather pointed look.

"I can rest when I'm dead," Severus said, pulling the next pile of detention forms closer and inking his quill. _Which will be all too soon, I'm afraid. Between the Dark Lord, the students, and the bloody faculty, my chances of surviving even til the end of the school year are getting smaller and smaller._

His only solace was that one secret, that one living person who still trusted and believed in him; he hadn't even told Albus' portrait about Granger. That stubborn child –_ young woman_ – was the glimmer of hope, the way to keep going. Even if he died, he would succeed in his task. There was a plan in place and someone, at least, would mourn him, even if only a little.

* * *

Well, hello, hello, hello, everyone! Again. Look, I updated! AND changed my pen name. :) And am busy wedding-planning. (It's crazy, truly.)


	5. Chapter 5: Hermione

Author's Note: This will, eventually, be SSHG. I cannot guarantee on updates, I will warn you now. This is going to be a few little glimpses at first, until around the final battle, when it will hopefully, assuming I keep writing, blossom into the tale it's supposed to be.

I do not in any way, shape, or form own Harry Potter, aside from awesome merchandise. I am merely playing with them, and, frankly, this damn story's been in my head too long.

Notice: I've changed my pen name from Honoo Moeru to dragoon811, as this is the name I use elsewhere. :)

* * *

CHAPTER 5

Really, she wasn't sure how long she'd screamed. Now, it just hurt. The fire that had crawled up her spine and threatened to kill every nerve ending had become a dull, throbbing ache, and what had started as wrenching, body-twisting pain had turned into twitches and spasms that seemed like they were happening to someone else.

She wasn't going to tell them anything, she'd already decided on that, and was wondering if she'd end up staying in St. Mungo's with Neville's parents. They'd seemed like nice, quiet people. Would she still find reading enjoyable?

No, wait, Lockhart was there, too. With her luck, a Hermione with a melted brain would find him attractive again.

Maybe they'd kill her instead.

It was interesting, though, how the torture had released some of her memories from Professor Snape's spell. She still couldn't talk about it, and they were hazy and incomplete, but it was nice to have them.

Vaguely, she wondered if she was still sane and it was his magic that was protecting her somehow. That would be like him. Then again, it was possible that she was already insane.

No, insane people didn't consider their sanity. Definitely sane. And she could do this.

With effort, she focused her eyes on Bellatrix again, which seemed to be what the bitch had been waiting for, and she pointed her wand at Hermione again.

"_Crucio!_"

* * *

The arm holding the basilisk fang twitched, and she set her jaw. She was _not_ going to let those stupid after-shocks take over her now. She'd been lucky that all of the attacks had taken place at night or when she could hide it from the boys, and she certainly was going to tamp them down as best she could until the fight was over. Harry didn't need the worry, and Ron didn't need the guilt.

"You can do it, 'Mione. Your turn, anyways," Ron told her, holding the cup.

"Just don't stab me with it," he joked. "I don't think Fawkes is around to save the day."

Hermione looked into her friend's blue eyes, then took a breath and jabbed the cup.

The world exploded into water and fear and the death of something that felt like shivers up their spines, and when it righted itself, she was wrapped around Ron.

For some reason, they pressed their lips together, and...nothing. No sparks, no choir of angels, no overwhelming sense of love and rightness.

They broke apart, laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all.

"Sorry," they said at the same time, and Ron grinned that lopsided, boyish grin that had endeared him to Lavender.

Oh, Lavender.

Hermione was fairly certain the other girl had still been breathing when they'd vaulted past, Ron had looked stricken enough as it was, and she'd had to pull him after her to Myrtle's bathroom. But only fairly certain.

She wished she'd done more to Greyback than knock him out the damn window.

Hermione's arm twitched again and she exhaled with a nod. "Alright. Let's find Harry."

* * *

_The shack, the shack, it had to be the bloody shack,_ Hermione thought desperately. It was so far from the school, even if they the tunnel under the Willow. Too far from the people who could help. Far from what little safety remained at the school. Too far, too far, and it felt like they were more alone than ever.

She was glad Harry was in front of her, and Ron was eerily silent behind, his face grief-stricken and pale in the wandlight.

And where was Professor Snape? She remembered what she'd promised and the cold, sick terror if it gripped her. The thought of Professor Snape having to go to the madman...

_I know I'm a coward, but I don't want to be the one to tell Harry_.

Presumably, Professor Snape was still capable of telling him, because the words couldn't come out of her dry mouth. Couldn't even shape them.

_I don't want Harry – or anyone else – to die!_

* * *

Okay, short chapter. We all know what's happening next, don't we? And I just.. don't want to write it yet lol.


	6. Chapter 6: Protect It

Author's Note: Hey. Hey, look. It's to the point of _real plot_ now. How awesome is this?

I do not in any way, shape, or form own Harry Potter, aside from awesome merchandise. I am merely playing with them, and, frankly, this damn story's been in my head too long. Since I don't own Harry Potter, you're infinitely stupid if you think I am making any form of monetary compensation for this.

Notice: I've changed my pen name from Honoo Moeru to dragoon811, as this is the name I use elsewhere. :)

Furthermore – thank you VERY much to all of you who have reviewed! Makes me rather happy, knowing people like what I am writing makes it easier to write more. :)

* * *

CHAPTER 6

He could have taken Minerva.

He could have taken Flitwick.

Sodding hell, he could have taken them _both_ on, and won, if it wasn't for the singular reason that he needed them to protect the school and students. Ungrateful wretches, cheering his departure... _I've bled for you, lied for you, and you will never even know._

He was very glad of the amount of clothing he wore – his shield spell protected him from some of the window's glass, but not all of it. He'd be picking fragments out of his clothing for a week.

Assuming, of course, he survived that long.

And, oh, perfect _bloody _timing – the bastard must have finally caught onto Potter's doings for the past year, and that anger _burned _through the mark. Severus forced his mind away from the stabbing pain in his arm as the ground rushed up to meet him.

_Not my most graceful landing_. He carefully cleaned his clothes with magic and tossed his hair back out of his eyes before using a Disillusionment charm. _I have to get back to Potter._

He hesitated at the treeline. What if he couldn't get back to the school? Reaching out with his magic, he gave Draco a nudge to stay in the castle. A godfather's bond didn't work unless there were matched, mutual feelings on both sides, and it wasn't as strong as it had been, not after the strain of the past two years.

_Stay in the castle_, he prayed. _Stay and be safe. _Severus slipped between the trees to seek a way back. Please, let it be enough. Let me save at least one life.

* * *

"Severus." Lucius' smile was strained. The tension in his body was palpable. "He requires your...presence."

He nodded curtly and strode away, and Lucius watched him go almost...sadly. Oh.

Oh.

Oh. A coldness settled in his gut and he nearly stumbled. Not yet, not now, he _had to get to Potter_.

Deep breath, in slowly through the nose. Calm. Don't feel, don't care. Hate Potter. Severus brought forth the emotions he needed – desire to find the boy. Hatred and enmity for Potter. Frustration at being behind the lines of fighting, instead of the castle where he was needed.

He considered it briefly, then tossed down the vial of tasteless potion in his pocket. Better safe than sorry at this juncture. He had a backup for get the information to Potter, yes, but...well, call him maudlin, but he really didn't want the girl to have do it. That sounded too sentimental. Didn't want to fail. There, that was better.

He rebuilt his walls as he walked. No holes, no cracks, nothing to give him away. Bury what's not needed. Bring up what he'd need, protect it. Granger he buried deepest. If the Dark Lord broke through the rest, he'd already have reason to kill him. Protect that bit – even if he was discovered at this point, he would die before fucking it up completely.

Unfaltering steps towards the shrieking shack. He ignored that sick feeling of dread, that kind of helplessness that comes with failure. He pretended he could not hear his heart pounding in his ears, his throat. If he wavered now, he would die. If he failed, he was dead, the entire world was possibly doomed... Was this his last night on earth? Did he shower this morning? Fairly certain, but still...Was he going to die as they thought of him? As the greasy git? What did he have at dinner? Did he remember to chew spearmint leaves after?

No matter, all he could taste now was bile.

* * *

Ending this chapter here. I liked where this ended, and next chapter I intend to flip between the two for the shack scene.

Hope you're all doing well! :)


	7. Chapter 7: I Regret It

Standard Disclaimer: I do not in any way, shape, or form own Harry Potter, aside from awesome merchandise. I am merely playing with them, and, frankly, this damn story's been in my head too long. Since I don't own Harry Potter, if you think I'm making MONEY from this, well, enough said about the lack of intelligence. I'll just assume you're having some sort of delusion.

Exception: IF YOU RECOGNIZE ANY OF THE FOLLOWING TEXT, IT'S FROM THE DEATHLY HALLOWS HARDCOVER SITTING ON THE SHELF, AND AT THE END OF THE LINE COPIED FROM SAID BOOK WILL BE MARKED WITH AN ASTERISK. (* ← that. That is an asterisk.)

Author's Note: Thank you VERY much to all of you who have reviewed! Makes me rather happy, knowing people like what I am writing makes it easier to write more. :) But in answer... NO, I'm NOT going to kill him. This IS in Romance, rated M. I guarantee you he will survive, they will come together, and then, eventually, _come_ together. What kind of horrible person do you think I am? ;)

With that said, let us rejoin Hermione and Severus on their way to the shack. We all know he's going to get bitten. It's going to hurt. Severus, if you're listening, _I'm really, really sorry._

* * *

**CHAPTER 7**

Hermione was wishing Harry had let her take the cloak and go to the shack alone. Ron shouldn't be here – the pain was too raw, too fresh, and she'd had half a mind to stop and pour a Calming Draught down his throat, if only so she could be sure he could focus. Now was _not_ the time for him to go off in a fit.

Harry needed them.

If she was honest, she was as worried about Harry as she was about Ron. Ron was entirely capable of charging out on his own, but Harry would follow because Ron was his best friend. Harry would also willingly sacrifice himself for any of his friends. And while she knew now he was going to _have_ to, she couldn't say it, and it was breaking her heart.

And it was with selfish, selfish longing she wished for Professor Snape to find them instead of going to Voldemort, to help them...

She kept her wand ready, ready to petrify Harry if she had to, stun him, silence him, anything. So much death today, so much destruction, and while it wouldn't keep him safe forever, maybe it would give her a chance to make it worth something _more_ than just running at the snake, at Voldemort...

One more step closer, one more deep, shaky breath. _Oh, please, oh, please...please, Professor, find us..._

* * *

He was calm. Indifferent. Smoothly inscrutable. Asking repeatedly to let him find Potter. Usually, if he annoyed the Dark Lord enough, he'd just hex him and then send him away to 'go be useful'. Besides, he looked focused and informed, telling him the resistance was crumbling - it wasn't; the Headmaster's magic told him the castle was damaged but that the students and staff were, mostly, alright. He felt each death as a sharp pain, informed of every fallen child, knew without thinking how many children were off the grounds, the condition of his staff – what was the Dark Lord saying now?

"I have a problem, Severus," said Voldemort softly.*

_A problem? Of course you have a problem. More like two, maybe three. Four if you count the sanity issue, five if you count the nose thing, want some of mine?_ He thought wildly. But his walls held, and on the surface, he was impassive and all that came out was a soft query. _Just hex me and tell me to go; I can fix the damage, I have to get to Potter._

"My Lord?"*

And then the Dark Lord lifted his wand. _Oh, good. Hex me. _The impatience to go flared and he ruthlessly suppressed it. He'd learned years ago that impatience earned curses, not hexes.

But no hex came, no curse.

"Why doesn't it work for me, Severus?"*

_What?_ He knew confusion would be showing on his face and on his mind. The sudden worry and panic wouldn't.

"My-my Lord?"*

Nagini moved about in her sphere, and he wondered briefly if he could kill it from here. Would the Killing Curse work on it? Would it penetrate the magical cage, or would he need that damned sword?

"I do not understand."* Eyes on the cage, and not the Dark Lord. He didn't want thoughts of serptentcide (or would that be herpecide?) to rise to the surface where the Dark Lord would see.

"...You have performed extraordinary magic with that wand."* _Flatter him. Stall him. Anything. _That ice-cold lump in his stomach was growing colder, and he was trying to think back to that night on the Astronomy Tower while maintaining his Occlumency walls.

"No,"* the Dark Lord was saying now, but he wasn't screaming, wasn't raging. Just cold and ponderous and Severus was suddenly very, very frightened. "I have performed my usual magic. _I_ am extraordinary, but this wand...no. It has not revealed the wonders it has promised. I feel no difference between this wand and the one I procured from Ollivander all those years ago."*

The Dark Lord paused, and said thoughtfully, "No difference."*

* * *

Professor Snape was there, and Hermione was simultaneously elated and terrified. She couldn't hear everything as Voldemort started to circle the professor, studying him. She thought her heart might burst from her chest, or that Voldemort would hear them, down here in the dark.

She heard Professor Snape ask again to go to Harry, how could he be so calm? She'd never heard him sound so cold and dead. There was no life in his words. They sounded almost mechanical. Harry was being blessedly quiet, Ron, too, as they sat in the dark, trying to see the snake, waiting.

Oh. Oh. He thought Professor Snape had Mastery of the Elder Wand? But she _knew_ he'd killed the Headmaster on orders. It hadn't been a defeat, it had been planned, hadn't it? The _was_ no master, right?

"...and I think I have the answer."* Voldemort was saying as fear for the Professor suddenly washed over her, making her nearly sick.

Hermione flicked her wand at herself, just a silencing charm, nonverbal. She was deathly afraid _she'd _be the one to get them in trouble this time.

* * *

He didn't have an answer for that. He was fairly damned sure he knew where the Dark Lord was going with this. _I shouldn't have the Mastery. It was planned. _

Right?

Furiously, he thought, keeping his face as impassive as marble. _The wand passes by defeat, not death..._

He could have drawn his wand. He kept his hands clasped behind his back. He could Apparate away. He could find Potter, he could -

_Dark earth. Damp wood. Herbs and grasses from a forest, a trace of - _

The scent he wore when gathering herbs.

The vial of which he'd given to Granger.

Granger was near, within _smelling_ distance. Which meant Potter was close. Here. Which meant the sword, the snake, the final bloody Horcrux were all in one place. All he had to do was hold on...

"The wand cannot serve me properly, Severus, because I am not its true Master. The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last owner. _You_ killed Albus Dumbledore. While you live, Severus, the Elder Wand cannot truly be mine."*

_I thought it was **defeat**, _Severus thought. He could still draw his wand, he could still fight back. He was good enough to escape the Dark Lord, he could fly if necessary, he could Apparate, he could do any number of things...

But the Dark Lord would pursue him, taking the snake with him, away from Potter. And he'd still be capable of passing information to Potter, so Granger wouldn't be able to tell him...

He reached again for the bond with his godsons – _stay safe_, he implored, pushing the command.

His fingers twitched, without his permission. _If he kills me...if I let him kill me... Potter will get his information. If I **let** him do it, **I **will be undefeated. _He clenched his teeth so tightly his jaw twitched. If this was his final hurrah, this was going to be his choice, a final 'fuck you' to the monster that had lied and cheated and stolen and brought so many lives to ruin.

_**You will not win.**_

* * *

Hermione had covered her mouth with her hand, even though the silencing charm, she didn't want to risk her sob being heard. Professor Snape just _stood_ there.

And then the scream... she'd stabbed the cup, faced the Fiendfyre, heard the cries of the battle; but she'd never heard anything as horrible as the cry of her professor as the snake lunged at him, bit him.

It was high and pained, and she wanted to wail and scream herself. She wanted to burst out and stop it from happening. Professor Snape _couldn't_ die like this. He was too intelligent, too powerful, _why did he let this happen?!_

"I regret it,"* Voldemort was saying, as he left, leaving with the snake, the second-to-last Horcrux, and she could see Professor Snape's boot twitch. Was he still alive?

Thankful for the silencing charm, Hermione tried to say the words, that Harry had to die... and nothing. _He's still alive!_

She was shaking, Harry had paled, Ron was barely breathing in his own terror. She saw Harry's hand tighten around his wand and she wasn't even sure why she did it or why she trusted her abilities enough to aim her wand at Harry's back, blocking it from Ron's view with her body, and mouthed "_Imperio."_

* * *

He did not know why he was doing it, why he was approaching the dying man: He did not know what he felt as he saw Snape's white face, and the fingers trying to staunch the bloody wound at his neck. Harry took off the Invisibility Cloak and looked down upon the man he hated, whose widening black eyes found Harry as he tried to speak. Harry bent over him, and Snape seized the front of his robes and pulled him close. *

A terrible, rasping, gurgling noise issued from Snape's throat.*

* * *

_Relief. _ That was the sensation that flooded him as Potter's head appeared from the cloak that had pulled away from the trap door. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Granger's curls, but he didn't want to look away from Potter, who was curiously quiet, eyes only slightly glazed, as if..

Clever girl. He spared a glance at her, pale, white-lipped and white-knuckled around her wand. She looked pained and terrified and she was crying.

As if her tears fueled his own, he used what strength he could to grasp Potter's clothing and said the only thing he could; "Take...it...take...it"*

And he was crying, pouring _memories_ into the tears, everything he'd prepared, everything Potter would need to know and the girl was looking heartbroken as she dug up to her arm in a pouch and handed Potter a vial and thrust her hand back in and he was so very, very tired now, crying away his love and his life and his folly and his guilt...

One person would mourn him. One person would know, would have to be enough. A bright Gryffindor girl with pain in her eyes and a good heart, but she wouldn't be able to Imperius her friend forever...

"Look...at...me..." he whispered.*

He stared into Potter's eyes, felt for the spark, the connection, and _pushed_ at the boy –_ the Pensieve_, he commanded him. _Take them to the Pensieve._

He was so tired now, so distant, pushing the command with all of his magic at the boy, breaking Granger's Imperius, and he felt so dark and cold and then – nothing.

* * *

Don't hate me.

We're not done with him yet. **_He will survive. I am not going to kill Severus Snape_.**


	8. Chapter 8: I'll come back

Standard Disclaimer: I do not in any way, shape, or form own Harry Potter, aside from awesome merchandise. I am merely playing with them, and, frankly, this damn story's been in my head too long. Since I don't own Harry Potter, if you think I'm making MONEY from this, well, enough said about the lack of intelligence. I'll just assume you're having some sort of delusion.

Exception: IF YOU RECOGNIZE ANY OF THE FOLLOWING TEXT, IT'S FROM THE DEATHLY HALLOWS HARDCOVER SITTING ON THE SHELF, AND AT THE END OF THE LINE COPIED FROM SAID BOOK WILL BE MARKED WITH AN ASTERISK. (* ← that. That is an asterisk.)

Author's Note: Thank you VERY much to all of you who have reviewed! Makes me rather happy, knowing people like what I am writing makes it easier to write more. :)

* * *

**CHAPTER 8**

Hermione was shaking, and she wasn't sure anymore if it was Cruciatus tremors or fear from Voldemort's sibilant message to Harry, or shock and worry for Professor Snape. It was probably from all three, and she tried to keep herself tense to eliminate the first.

She canceled her silencing charm and stared at the little vial of memories Harry was holding. She had to get them moving, get them out of the Shack, get Harry to a Pensieve...She felt cold and numb right now, she had to get them going, lift the stasis before it drained her...

"Don't listen to him," said Ron.*

"It'll be alright," Hermione said wildly.* Even her lips felt numb. That voice, strangely high and frightened, didn't sound like her. "Let's – let's get back back to the castle, if he's gone to the forest we'll need to think of a new plan - "*

Harry, seeming a little dazed, gathered the folds of his cloak and she wrenched the door to the tunnel open.

"Come on, then," Hermione said, and Ron went through, then Harry, and she Confunded them both and shut the door. It wouldn't last long, but hopefully it would buy her enough time to help Professor Snape, and then join them before they noticed she hadn't been right behind them.

She fell to her knees beside him, pulling her potions out of her beaded bag, and checked him pockets. "You had to have taken _something_, Professor...but what did you take..."

Her search yielded an empty vial – scentless, but the edge was damp, he must have drank it, _probably an antivenin?_ she was guessing now – and a tiny tiny vial of Felix Felicis.

_Why didn't you take **that?**_ she wondered as she pried the wax off the stopper. About to tilt his head and pour the Felix down his throat, she was struck with a thought. She paused and licked the cork. _Just enough for a few minutes, please I don't want to end up accidentally **killing** him..._

A strange, peaceful feeling, it was, that feeling of absolute rightness that this was the path that washed over Hermione and she set the Felix down to reach into her bag. Well, she didn't _remember_ packing a vial of Phoenix Tears, let alone ever having _seen_ it before, but there it was and there was the Muggle first aid kit, with all the sterile gauze...

She soaked the gauze with the tears, poured the Felix down his throat and dittany on the ragged wounds of his neck, then wrapped them in gauze. She dissolved a bezoar in the canteen and made him drink it, followed by the last of her Blood-Replenishing potion, wishing she had more of it.

Water next, and she wiped his face clean – _he looks so peaceful _- and made a rather illegal Portkey to Malfoy Manor, folding his hands around it. It would send him off there if she didn't make it back before it went off. Worst case, they lost and the Malfoys would take care of him, never realising he hadn't been on their side. Best case, she'd retrieve him, get him to St Mungo's.

Hermione sat a moment after lifting the stasis, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the thready beat of his pulse under her fingers. On impulse, she brushed his lank hair back and pressed a kiss to his forehead like her mum did whenever she or Dad were sick.

"I'll come back, Professor." She rose and left the room feeling oddly calm, and as she closed the door to the tunnel behind her, it was by the last bit of luck that her Confundus ended and they ran for the castle and the Pensieve.

* * *

Short Chapter? Yes. Is he still laying on the bloody floor of the shack, alone? Yes. But the story is _far_ from over.


	9. Chapter 9: Home it is, then

Standard Disclaimer: I do not in any way, shape, or form own Harry Potter, aside from awesome merchandise. I am merely playing with them, and, frankly, this damn story's been in my head too long. Since I don't own Harry Potter, if you think I'm making MONEY from this, well, enough said about the lack of intelligence. I'll just assume you're having some sort of delusion.

Author's Note: Thank you VERY much to all of you who have reviewed! Makes me rather happy, knowing people like what I am writing makes it easier to write more. :) And here, we start to deviate more from the books/films. :) Because, well, he's alive and all.

**PLEASE NOTE:** I am not going to be focusing on this story until January, due to holidays/moving around again/work/finishing Another Dream, since it IS Christmas-themed. I hope you all have a wonderful holidays and a happy new year! :)

* * *

**CHAPTER 9**

She was numb. Numb, numb, numb. Chilled to the core, and at this point, she didn't think the trembling was ever going to stop. She was sick of fear, sick of death, sick of fighting, sick of loss and grief and despair. At least it was over.

Harry was sort of staring at Remus and Tonks with glances at Ginny, and Ron was sitting with his family, casting looks at Madame Pomfrey's makeshift infirmary (_Lavender, _she remembered distantly) across the room. He seemed torn between staying with George, who had a death grip on his hand, and going over.

She scanned the hall, giving an exhausted half-smile to Neville, and stared blankly at the Malfoys huddled together in a corner for several seconds before it sunk in.

The Malfoys.

The timed Portkey.

_Professor Snape!_

* * *

She blessed Luna's perfect timing all the way to the Whomping Willow. Blibbering Humdingers, indeed. God bless every single invisible creature the girl believed in. It had probably been meant for Harry, but the diversion was enough for her to slip out the door. Air burned in her lungs, her legs ached and she stumbled more than once. What time was it? How long did she have?

God, she was so tired. Exhausted. Her breath wheezed as she pushed open the tunnel door. He was still...lying there. Just like she'd left him. White and black and red on the floor of the shack.

Panting, Hermione crossed the floor to him. He looked...diminished, somehow, with the cravat he wore bloodied and tossed aside, and plain gauze on his neck. She knelt next to him amid the emptied potion phials, and touched his hand with trembling fingers. He was so cold...she should move him, take him to St. Mungo's...

The Portkey in his hand started to glow. Started, she grabbed the cravat and yanked it from his hands before it could fully activate, tossing it aside, where it and the bit of cloth vanished. She looked back down at him. She'd have to move him to the hospital alone. Maybe she should send her Patronus to Harry?

Footsteps, then, coming to the shack from the outside, from Hogsmeade, and voices. She tensed, gripping her wand so tightly she could feel the pattern on the wood.

"Someone's warded this place up tight," came a male voice. _Please don't be leftover Death Eaters_, Hermione prayed.

"Potter said Snape'd be in here. Fairly certain he's dead, he said." Another male.

"Don't see why the fuss." She could feel the magic around the shack start to unravel, slowly. Whoever they were, they were able to take down the wards, just not well.

"Well, it's either the morgue or St Mungo's, and we'll see what happens once we get a new Minister."

Aurors, then! She was about to call out to them when the other replied.

"If he's not dead, no one would know if we, say, made it that way. No one'd miss him. He's a right bastard as it is."

Hermione nearly growled. _I'd miss him, you arses!_

"That's not very professional of you." A pause. "Then again, he's just a Death Eater, who cares what Potter says?"

"If he's dead he won't have to worry about any sort of trial," the other voice suggested. "BUGGER! That ward'll zap you, careful."

Hermione cast a quick Silencing Charm on the room then tucked her wand away, wrapping her arms around Professor Snape, and tried to heave him up. She had to stand up. Had to be able to turn, to Apparate, to get him away. If the Aurors couldn't be trusted, she couldn't take him to St. Mungo's. She wasn't sure what would happen with the Malfoys, so that was out...

_Home it is_. She wrestled him into a clumsy hold, concentrated fiercely, and turned into herself with a pop.

* * *

Hermione staggered under his weight when they arrived, and she ended up underneath him.

"God, you're heavier than you look," she muttered, trying to get out from under him as carefully as possible. She managed to free her wand. "Mobilicorpus!"

With Professor Snape safely levitated, she headed him towards the guest bedroom, where she pulled down the bedclothes. A few quick cleansing spells on the dust of the room, him, and his clothes, and she set him down as gently as she could, covering him for warmth.

Hermione managed a worried smile."Right. Now what, Professor?"

Professor Snape didn't say anything, just slept on, his breathing slow and quiet. She watched him for a moment, stern and pale under the duvet. She'd never just _looked_ at her Professor, or studied him. He looked tired. Thin, too thin. Paler than she remembered, but that could have been the blood loss. She reached for his hand again and chafed it with hers.

"Alright, then. You rest, heal. The battle's over, sir. And you're safe, I promise. I won't let anyone hurt you, and we'll get you cleared, you'll see. Harry's alright, and _he's_ never coming back again." Her arm twitched dangerously and she let go of him. "I've got to let them know where I am, and I'll be back in a bit... the house is under Fidelius Charm, so no one's going to take you away and they won't be able to find you."

Hermione cast a monitoring charm over the bed, and snicked the door shut behind her. She managed a Patronus to Harry, saying she was dead tired and she was sorry but she was going to go rest for a while, before things got mad with reporters and Aurors.

No sooner had the Patronus swum away in the general direction towards Hogwarts and Scotland did the full Cruciatus tremors start and she was down on the hall carpet, twitching and shaking, back bowing with the pain.

And when it was over, she curled into herself, sobbing quietly to herself outside the guest bedroom door until she fell asleep where she lay.

* * *

So. He's somewhere safe. She's got backlash, but I'm sure it's treatable. Battle's over, Voldy's dead.

See you all in the New Year!


	10. Chapter 10: Backlash and Waking, pt1

Standard Disclaimer: I do not in any way, shape, or form own Harry Potter, aside from awesome merchandise. I am merely playing with them, and, frankly, this damn story's been in my head too long. Since I don't own Harry Potter, if you think I'm making MONEY from this, well, enough said about the lack of intelligence. I'll just assume you're having some sort of delusion.

Author's Note: How was the holidays? Mine were lovely! I got to see my family and nail down important wedding things! Like, cake. Flowers. Reception food. Invitations. Approx 93-91 days to go, depending on when this chapter is posted! Just a short chapter this go around, sorry.

* * *

**CHAPTER 10**

She hurt.

She hurt _everywhere_, it seemed, from her fingertips to her feet, and she'd swear even her hair was in pain. It took a couple of tries to uncurl, and it would be longer before she could stand. With a soft moan, Hermione flopped onto her back, bringing a hand up to rub at the imprint of the carpet on her cheek, taking steady breaths. What time was it? What time had she succumbed to the spasms? A long time?

That had been a very bad backlash, and she wondered vaguely if it would go away in time. Harry hadn't had any, she knew, from their fourth year... but he also hadn't been under as long as she had.

She thought.

It had been hard to tell time when your bones were burning and all you could do was scream and cry. After a while, she'd just...given _in _to the pain. Anything to buy time for Harry, to keep the lies in place. Sheer bloody Gryffindor stubbornness, and the one time she thought she _actually_ did belong in that house.

At the time, Hermione had just been grateful that they hadn't been smarter and just gone for Legilimency, or called in You-Know-Who. That would have been very, very bad, and things would have ended there for her, Ron, Harry, _and _for Professor Snape.

Oh, him.

She should probably get up off of the floor and check on him, she thought distractedly. _Oh, please don't have died, not when we've won..._

Maybe he was sleeping peacefully, she told herself. Or perhaps even awake already! Maybe he'd awoken and gone...but that thought made her strangely sad so she squashed it.

Inhaling sharply, she rolled onto her stomach and began the arduous process of getting to her feet. The nights at Shell Cottage had been easier, since she'd been on a bed, and getting up off the floor was mortifyingly difficult. _Deep breaths, Hermione,_ she told herself. _Get on your knees... alright... get one foot underneath yourself...good...now...steady...and __**push**__..._

She staggered to her feet and leaned against the wall shakily, and eyed Bellatrix's wand warily as she caught her breath. She really hated that thing. It felt...cold. Resistant. Twisted...

_It's just a wand. It can't hurt you._ But it felt like it could. And it had. Part of her was glad she had it – it had hurt her and now it did what she wanted it to. But most of her was sickened by it, and wanted it as far away as possible.

Reluctantly, she bent and grasped it, suppressing a shudder at the feel of it in her hand. Straightening, she cast a quick Tempus. Oh, thank God. If it was still the second of May, she'd only been asleep for a few hours. Another quick spell, and...yes. Still the second. Nothing to cause major concern over. With luck, no one was panicking, and no one would suspect she'd taken Professor Snape away from the Shack.

With a whimper of pain, she turned her head towards the closed guest bedroom door. She didn't _think _he was dead, or the monitoring charm she'd set would have told her.

Unless, of course, she'd been too out of it for it to wake her.

A sudden panic gripped her. What if _that_ was why she'd woken? What if she had failed him, and Professor Snape had died?

She shoved the door open and crossed to his bedside as quickly as she could, fumbling for his hand – he was cold, but he'd been this cold earlier, hadn't he? - searching out his pulse.

_Oh, please, oh God, please let him still be alive..._

* * *

Just felt like a little update while I work on Another Dream, since it'll be shorter than Guilt will be.

Also, I've been bitten by plot bunnies. Oh dear. Sorry.


	11. Chapter 11: Backlash and Waking, pt2

Standard Disclaimer: I do not in any way, shape, or form own Harry Potter, aside from awesome merchandise. I am merely playing with them, and, frankly, this damn story's been in my head too long. Since I don't own Harry Potter, if you think I'm making MONEY from this, well, enough said about the lack of intelligence. I'll just assume you're having some sort of delusion.

Author's Note: Hi. I'm waving at you, but you can't see it.

* * *

**CHAPTER 11**

His hand was cold, and so was the skin of his wrist as she slid up the cuff. Pressing her fingers to the veins there, she waited. He had a pulse! It was steady, but barely-there, and she hoped it was because he was sleeping. Smiling down at him a little sadly, she Her fingertips brushed against the wand in his sleeve with what felt like a static shock.

"Oh!" Hermione jerked her hand back, then cautiously slid her fingers back into his sleeve. What if he turned in his sleep and broke it? This time, there was no shock. Freeing the wand from the wool and linen, she grasped the handle.

It was warm, and felt...familiar. Like it recognised her? Not possible. She'd never touched it. She was even fairly certain he'd never used it on her, or even pointed it at her, for that matter. Professor Snape's wand was an item quickly flicked at shutters or a sputtering cauldron or chalkboards. Not even when he'd taught DADA did he wield it much. Were the dueling club and the cursed necklace really the only times she'd truly seen it?

Fairly certain, and with a whispered "sorry", Hermione swished his wand. It was comforting, having it in her hand, and it responded well, better than Bellatrix's. "I'm sorry, Professor – I need to get back to the school. May I borrow your wand? Just for a little while? I'll be back as soon as I can, I promise."

Predictably, there was no reply from the man in the bed, and she pocketed his wand. Rummaging through the nightstand, she located the stub of a pencil and a pad of paper that was most definitely stolen from a hotel (one of her father's penny-pinching habits), and left both Bellatrix's wand and a note for Professor Snape. If he turned his head, even a little, he'd see it, and know she was coming back, that she would take care of his wand, and she hadn't left him wandless in the interim.

She really just couldn't hear to use that crazy bitch's any longer, and even a small reprieve was appreciated.

Tucking the covers a little closer around him – he really shouldn't be so cold, she'd have to find her beaded bag with her books, refresh her knowledge of healing spells – and shutting the door quietly, Hermione made her way the bathroom, and nearly screamed in fright.

The last time in recent months that she'd seen her reflection had been at Bill and Fleur's, but only after she'd taken the swig of Polyjuice. She scarcely recognised herself! She was thinner than she remembered being, and her hair was (understandably) a worse mess than usual.

Or what _had _been usual, the last she'd stood in this room. The thought made her throat tight, and she set her jaw. No, they'd _won_ – paid a price, but won – and she'd be damned if she was going to cry now because of her stupid looks. Quick cleansing charms on her clothes, a detangling one for her hair, and she felt a little more human.

Stooping, she dug through the cabinet under the sink and grinned at finding one of the pre-powdered toothbrushes. _Now_ she could feel human! There was still a towel hanging off the door, and clean hands, face, and teeth had done wonders for her morale.

She cast a longing look at the shower, but it could wait. She should get back to Hogwarts, test the waters on Professor Snape. If he needed medical attention, which was likely, he'd be far better off with Madame Pomfrey or St Mungo's than with her. But if it wasn't safe, then there was no way in _hell_ she'd let them take him. She'd smuggle him out of the country if she had to!

* * *

Being able to Apparate directly to Hogwarts had been a surprise – she hadn't realised how damaged the wards were. Usually, if you focused on Hogwarts, you'd land by the front gates, not the front _doors_. There was so much rubble, and it sent a pang to her heart to see her school, the place that had been her second home for almost half her life in near-ruins.

Most of the bodies had been taken, but a few, like the giants, or the suits of armor, remained. There was blood, too, and scorch marks, chunks of the stone missing from the ground, and suddenly she very much did not want to go inside.

"'But the grass is still green, and the sky is still blue; there's not excuse for not doing what you have to'," Hermione murmured, quoting her mother.

Cautious of debris, and one or two tapestry hooks that looked in danger of releasing from the stone onto a passer-by's head, she headed towards the Great Hall. It was likely that Harry was in the Gryffindor Common Room, but it'd been a few hours, so there were certain to be people there who could tell her for sure.

As she neared the Hall, however, Harry could be shouting at someone.

"Not the Common Room, then," she muttered.

"No, I _don't _know where he is!" Harry bellowed as she cleared the corner. "Besides, he's a _hero_, not some bloody villain - even if I did know, I wouldn't bloody tell you! "

Oh, Lord, they were talking about Professor Snape. One of the Aurors was looking surly and mutinous, and she remembered all too clearly the Shack, and the reason _why_ Professor Snape was currently inhabiting her mum's guest bedroom.

"Harry?" she tried. It would be good to deflect things away from the professor.

"Fine, Potter," one of the Aurors, a heavyset man with a rather ridiculous, walrus-like mustache snarled. "But we'll be watching you. If you're harboring him, we're gonna find out, and 'saviour' or not, yer gonna pay!"

"Harry!" Hermione tried again. The Aurors and Harry all turned her way, and she flushed under the sudden scrutiny. "Sorry – I know I'm interrupting...Have you seen Ron?"

Harry's shoulders hunched. "Yeah, he went home, Ginny, too. They're going to - " his voice broke off a little, and he swallowed heavily. "They're going to start preparations for Fred's funeral."

"Oh, Harry..." a lump formed in her own throat. How had she been so selfish? Thinking only of Professor Snape and herself? How could she have forgotten about Fred? "I'm sorry..."

"S'alright," he said. "Did you get any rest?"

"Some," she replied, all too aware of the Aurors and their interest. "What did I miss?"

"Snape's missing."

"_Professor_ Snape, Harry," she corrected automatically. After _months_ of having to listen to Snape-this, Snape-that, she was glad to remind him of the respect the man deserved.

Harry gave her a wry grin. "Right. _Professor_ Snape, then."

"Do they know where he is? He was pretty badly injured, he'll need medical attention." _Just state facts_, she told herself firmly. _Don't expound like you would on an essay, just keep it short, don't make them suspicious..._

"We started with where Potter said he'd be," interrupted the heavyset man's partner, a thin, reedy woman with thick glasses and an upturned nose. Definitely not the team that had come to the Shack. "All that was found was traces of Portkey magic."

_Not my Apparition? Oh, thank God..._

"Portkey? He had a Portkey?" That was Draco, butting in from across the hall. He looked awful; so did his parents, like none of them had slept. But they were still together, just sitting there with each other, being a family, for once.

"Don't tell him nuttin'," growled the heavyset man.

"Oh, budge over, Wallace." The witch was clearly exasperated. "They've been there the entire time, Death Eaters or no."

"He's my _godfather_," Draco sniped. "I have a right to know where he is and what you're doing to find him!"

"Draco, darling," Narcissa started softly. "Don't antagonise them. Severus can take care of himself."

It was odd, hearing Professor Snape referred to by his first name by someone other than the rest of the teaching staff.

"I know he can!" Draco was working himself into a huff. "We've told them and told them we don't know where he is! We've been here, in plain sight, for _hours_, and he's missing! According to Potter, he was injured and is _gone _and they're treating us like criminals! We should be finding him! Helping him!"

_He cares_, Hermione realised suddenly. She hadn't really thought Draco capable of it, but he seemed to really _care_ about Professor Snape's well-being. Just like he'd cared about his mother, when Harry'd insulted her at the World Cup. She'd always _known_ Draco was a human being, even if he was a prat, but seeing it demonstrated was something else.

_But he did lie for us, _she mused as Draco and Harry bickered with Auror Wallace and his partner. _There was nothing he **could** have done to stop Bellatrix, and he just wanted his wand back, he said, in the Room... which was odd, to want it back so badly._ Well, maybe not so odd, considering that she missed her own ivy wand.

"Shut it, all of you!" the thin woman roared, waving her arms and knocking her glasses askew. She straightened them with a glare. "Wallace, not another word out of you. Potter, shut it, I don't want to hear it. We don't even have a Minister yet to clear names. Malfoy, wand. Now. Your family's under house arrest until we _do_ do have a Minister."

Draco sneered at her and handed her his mother's wand. "This is my mother's. My father's was taken by the Dark Lord this summer, and _Potter_ has mine."

Chin held high, Draco spun and stalked back to his parents, where he regarded them haughtily. A real marvel, she thought wryly. She had no idea how he managed to keep such an air of superiority around himself.

"Now then," the Auror turned to Hermione. "Did you see anyone coming up to the Shack as you were leaving? He would have had to have been helped extremely quickly, with that much blood loss, even with a Portkey to the Malfoy's home."

"The Manor?!" Draco interrupted, leaping to his feet. He was quelled with a look that Professor Snape would have been proud of.

"We checked there – all we found was the expired Portkey and a bloody cravat. He wasn't there, not even your Elves had seen him." Those over-enlarged, bespectacled eyes focused back on Hermione. "Well?"

Hermione shook her head, thankful she could give an honest answer. "I didn't see anyone coming to the Shack, no. When we left, he was laying on the floor."

That was true. When _they_ had left, all three, Professor Snape had been lying there.

She just didn't elaborate to include that when she'd returned, he'd been lying in the same place.

"Very well. We'll let you know, Mister Potter, if we find him, in any condition."

Hermione had a sinking feeling in her stomach that some of the Aurors would be searching like the pair from the Shack – with hopes of either finding or making a corpse.

* * *

The discussion with Harry and the Aurors had been enlightening, and with the threat that Harry would be watched, Hermione didn't want to risk telling him about Professor Snape. Knowing Harry, he'd nag her to tell him where it was, then run over to her parents's house, and camp by the man's bedside to apologise and ask questions about his mum.

She loved Harry dearly, but sometimes he was single-minded, and he really did _try _to do the right thing, even if it was really the wrong thing. Like breaking up with Ginny... or potentially annoying Professor Snape.

Worrying at her lower lip, Hermione headed towards the library, hoping both that it wasn't too badly damaged, and that Madame Pince wasn't there to ask questions. Harry hadn't followed her, something about making arrangements for Professor Lupin and Tonks, once Andromeda had escorted her sister and her family home to stop "those Aurors from thinking they can get away with any funny business."

Thankfully, the library was both deserted, and intact, a testament to the strength of Madame Pince's efforts to protect her books. Having retrieved her beaded bag, Hermione set about filching the healing books she thought she'd need, and a few on potions, as well as identifying them.

As she was leaving, a thought struck her. What if she dosed him with something he was allergic to? What if he had medical needs she was unaware of? Her dad had had a patient once who hadn't bothered to filled in the allergies section of the new patient form, and while the man had lived, it'd been a lesson for all of them – better safe than sorry. Agitated, she shifted from one foot to the other before resolutely turning towards the Hospital Wing. She'd have to either confide in Madame Pomfrey – unwise, they'd probably assume he'd go to her for medical aid first – or steal Professor Snape's file.

* * *

The Hospital Wing was quiet – sleeping injured in cots here and there, including Lavender Brown, and Felicity, from Ravenclaw. There were some of the Slytherin students who'd returned en masse from Hogsmeade in some of the cots by the wall, but all were still asleep, and Madame Pomfrey was standing at the foot of one of them, checking a chart.

Barely daring to breathe, Hermione darted into her office, and raised Professor Snape's wand, casting a swift silencing charm. "Accio Severus Snape's medical files!"

There was a rumble before the cabinet spat two files out at her whispered spell, and she stashed them quickly in her bag and cancelled the charm. Poking her head out first to see Madame Pomfrey busy casting what must have been a diagnostic on a sleeping Hufflepuff, Hermione ran lightly out of the office, out of the hospital wing, and Apparated home between one step and the next.

* * *

There, now. Hope that was worth the wait? :)

I apologize for any errors (please feel free to correct me) – I've caught a cold, and feel like crap right now.


	12. Chapter 12: Punish the Child?

Author's Note: Hi. It's short, but... I AM still working on it. ;)

* * *

**CHAPTER 12**

Three days.

For three days, Hermione had been popping between home and Hogwarts. She'd devoured the books she'd taken, and had returned slowly to scour the books she hadn't. Oh, the basic spells – cleansing a patient, setting up monitors, etc – had been useful, but Professor Snape wasn't waking.

Nor had she made _any_ headway on identifying the mystery potion he'd clearly taken. It was odorless, yet when she'd tried to waft any fragrance to her, it had burned her nose. She was frustrated beyond belief about the whole bloody thing, too.

Nothing in his file (she'd only checked for allergies, she swore to him as she sat on the floor by the bed) indicated a problem with the draughts she'd given him so far. Hermione spent half of her days near tears, it seemed.

There was no trace of her parents yet, despite starting a few tracking spells. She'd cast all sorts of protective spells around the house, too - Fidelius or no, it was better to be safe than sorry. She'd set aside a third of the money she'd kept to potentially smuggle the three of them out of the country, just in case, and had begun budgeting for food.

On one of her trips back to Hogwarts, she'd quietly stolen several nutrition potions for Professor Snape. She could spell food into his stomach eventually, but for now, her money would stretch farther if she used the potions.

In between talking to Harry, comforting Mrs. Weasley and Ginny, and reassuring Ron (who hadn't left Lavender's hospital room during visiting hours once), she'd taken to studying her professor. He was so...quiet.

He'd always been a quiet man – stealthy, prone to grading papers quietly at the head of the class on some days. She'd only heard him truly furious a few times, and, admittedly, she'd seen him in the library fairly often. He was always quiet. Solid, yes, and liable to hiss out a barbed comment, or make a snarky remark in his silky voice, but he'd never had to shout to do so. This type of quiet was wrong. Even sitting at the head table, he'd had power, presence. And it wasn't there.

For some reason, it made her incredibly sad.

* * *

By the fifth day, Hermione had taken to talking to him, and was ready to try Professor Snape's house for clues to the mystery potion. She'd learned from Percy that the Headmaster's Office had sealed itself – no way would she be able to get into his rooms there.

Worse, the trials for the Malfoys were the next afternoon. She fully intended to go – Draco was Professor Snape's godson, he _had_ tried to help them at the Manor, his mother had protected Harry, and, really, his father was a royal arse, but he'd looked awful, and _had_ avoided the fighting. He'd seemed so desperate, at the Manor. All three of them had clearly been terrified, strained...and, most importantly to her mind, they hadn't run, at the end. They'd sat and waited with quiet dignity; that spoke more to her than Draco's arrogance and fear.

So, she'd do the right thing and stand up for them.

* * *

It was dark. And cold. He hurt everywhere, and felt so...alone. Had it been too much to hope for at least Albus to send him off to the other side? He'd never expected Lily to come for him, but the old bastard _owed him_. Hell, he'd settle for his mother or even his father, anything other than being dark and hurt and alone. Was he in Hell? He tried to sleep, to quiet his thoughts, to block out the pain and the cold.

Warmth, then, suddenly. Covering him, but he could not open his eyes. Could not move, just drift in the darkness and pain.

He wasn't sure how long he drifted, remembering flashes of his awful, miserable life. He couldn't think of anything...happy. He wanted to, he tried. But all he saw was Lupin in his school days. Saying that _bloody _word to Lily. Trading his knowledge for the Mark. It hurt him, hollowed him, and he wanted to weep, but couldn't.

"I'm here again, it's just me."

_Who ?_ A soft voice, female, laced heavily with exhaustion.

"You're still safe, I promise."

_Safe_. Warm fingers on his, and it was like a door unlocked in his mind. He could feel..warmth, like sunshine under a tree. Happiness – he pulled the happy memories he could to himself. Had he been in Purgatory? Was he going to be allowed to move on? No, he still could not move, nor open his eyes.

The fingers withdrew, and the door slowly swung shut. _No, don't go_ – but the warmth was gone. He held close to the memories he'd recovered. Holding his Mastery license in his hands. Lucius, naming him godfather to his son. A small babe reaching up to lay a curious hand on his nose. Lily's brilliant smile. Granger, thanking him, year after year.

"I have to go - I'll be back, sir."

_Sir_.

He wasn't dead, even as he fell back into blackness. His neck throbbed, but he was safe and he took what small comfort he could that Granger, the one remaining person he knew he could trust, had taken him away before his consciousness fled.

* * *

Hermione cast one look back at Professor Snape's still form before closing the door behind her. She'd still found no answers for him, nor had she made any headway in identifying the potion. Terrified she'd done something horribly wrong, she wondered if maybe she should ask for help.

But there was no one to ask. Her hand trembled and she headed for the bath. She really should look up Cruciatus treatment, since she had all the damn books. If she could get the bath hot enough, she'd be able to make the Malfoys' trial in time.

* * *

The bath had helped, and she'd summoned a few of the Healing books in with her. There'd been nothing on Cruciatus treatment – no surprise, they _were_ books from a school library and it _was_ an illegal curse, so she'd instead looked up long-term coma treatment. Five (or six, if you counted the first day) days was a long time, and she'd been really hoping he'd wake by now.

Hermione was dismayed at how complicated some of the potions needed would be – she'd either need a second set of hands or a Time Turner. Traversing the corridors of the ministry to the courtroom, she pondered her options of trustworthy people.

Neville wouldn't be of any use. Luna...well, she'd never _had_ Potions with Luna, so she was completely unsure if the dreamy girl would be a good match, or if she would end up blowing out the kitchen wall. Ron, well... Ron _could_ use the distraction, but he'd be hopeless, and he _hated_ Professor Snape, she knew.

She rounded the corner, taking her place in the very small section for witnesses for the Malfoys. Harry gave her a wan smile, and she chewed her lip in agitation. Harry? No – Harry would catch on. Distressed, she looked over at the Malfoys. Mrs. Malfoy looked calm, neatly dressed; she'd never really been a risk to begin with, Hermione realised. She probably didn't even have the Dark Mark.

Mr. Malfoy, on the other hand, looked better than he had the past two times she'd seen him, but still stressed. He stood very close to his wife, and was trying to look like he didn't have a care in the world. But Draco – Draco looked terrified.

Hermione stared at him. Draco.

Who was Professor Snape's godson. Who was good at Potions. Who wouldn't jeopardize Professor Snape's safety.

Why hadn't she considered him before? He was an arse, to be sure, but she was fairly certain she could put animosity aside to aid the Professor. Could he? Draco turned and looked at her. He looked _awful_. He looked drawn and paler than before. He dismissed her with his eyes, staring at Harry, who waved, and tried to give him a reassuring smile.

Draco sort-of owed her, for the Room, at least. Could she call on his honor not to divulge her secret? Or could he be trusted on his own?

* * *

The trial for Mrs. Malfoy was quick – but she didn't look at all relieved, Hermione thought. She twisted her fingers while watching her husband led to the chair in the center of the room, then composed herself. Draco looked like he was going to be sick. _Poor ferret_.

Surprisingly, Mr. Malfoy was let go, with hefty fines. Hermione'd been sure for a while there that they were going to send him back to Azkaban, but it seems that the whole 'acting under duress' thing held up. She wasn't sure how to feel about it. Yes, he'd definitely looked like death warmed over, and had practically begged his son to identify them as them, but...how was that worse than wiping your parents' memories and sending them off to a foreign country?

Harry reached over and gripped Hermione's. He'd been up for both of the Malfoys so far, while Hermione listened and ran over possible scenarios of someone breaking into her parents' house (not possible, with Fidelius, but _still_) and doing away with Professor Snape; of Professor Snape waking, alone, and just...leaving; of Professor Snape dying quietly in his sleep from some complication she'd caused.

No one had called her to speak for Draco's parents, they hadn't needed her after Harry's testimony. But the list against Draco was huge, like they were trying to punish his parents. Hearing the list made her angry. It wasn't fair! Completely unjust! Harry's face was darkening, his fingers tightening around hers.

"This is _stupid!_" Hermione heard someone's voice ring out, and realised it was _herself -_and she'd risen to her feet. She took a deep breath and hurried along. "Honestly, what are you trying to do? Punish his _parents_, like Voldemort – don't flinch, it's just a name – did by Marking him? Are you trying to set an example of a little boy? 'Aiding and abetting a known criminal' – what tripe!"

Contempt filled her voice. "If _you _were sixteen and a dark wizard was living under your roof, terrorizing your parents – who have always been calm and collected – _you_ would do everything you could to protect them, too! You'd be _terrified_! This is stupid, putting him on trial like a common criminal! The worst thing he did was make really awful attempts at protecting both himself and his parents – he protected _us_, he helped protect the other students, I'm sure of it, and you're getting ready to send him to prison for it! Shame on you, all of it!"

Draco was staring at her, slack-jawed, and Harry was tugging on her hand. She was so angry, she was shaking. In her defense, several members did look rather ashamed. Cheeks flaming, she sat back down.

"She's right," said Harry roughly, lifting his chin defiantly. There was a murmur of agreement around the room, and the judges shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Draco's parents were holding hands, barely daring to breathe, hope lighting their faces.

* * *

Free. Draco had gone free. Harry'd punched the air, and as Hermione watched Draco's parents embrace him, she felt a real smile bubbling up from somewhere inside her, and it nearly split her face. It felt good to be happy, if even for a moment.

Hermione watched the Malfoys a bit longer before heading back to her parents' house. She'd get in touch with Draco tomorrow. For now, she should get back to the professor whose wand remained warm and comfortable in her sleeve.

Waving goodbye to Harry, she left the Ministry feeling much lighter than before. She'd have good news for Professor Snape tonight!


	13. Chapter 13: Hope

**Author's Note: Posting this up; as of time of finishing this chapter, 10 days til the wedding! This needed an update. **

* * *

**Chapter 13: Hope**

St. Mungo's was quiet, now. The first few days had been all hustle and bustle, full of energy. He'd felt on edge then, gripping his wand tightly at the strangest sound, even the squeak of a trolley as it rolled past, carrying potions and gauze and towels. Bloody hell, he'd even hexed an orderly two days ago for _knocking_.

He hadn't left often – he couldn't bear it at home. Too stifling, now. He would have asked 'Mione for the tent, but he didn't know where she was, just that she'd gone to her parents' house in between helping at Hogwarts, and he couldn't bear to go there again just yet. He reckoned she really wanted to find her parents, anyway. Harry was busy, too, throwing himself into every project he could.

Ron understood that. But he'd stopped by anyway, talked with him, listened to the sounds of the hospital, her steady breathing. He hadn't said anything about Fred, either. Just asked why Lavender, that he thought they'd broken up.

Harry'd just sat there, hand on Ron's knee, both of them tired and worn, letting Ron talk when he was ready.

"I kissed 'Mione," he said finally, into the awful stillness of the room.

"And?" Harry asked, clearly remembering the locket.

"Nothing." He looked down at his lap. "It was funny – there was nothing there, it was like kissing Ginny."

There was a long pause, both of them watching the girl lying motionless in the bed, gauze covering the bite marks and scratches. "I missed Lav. I don't miss being called 'Won-Won'," the ginger said mirthlessly. "But I missed _her_ – after I'd stormed off after that bloody locket did a number on me, all I could think was about how Lav had made me feel."

Harry smiled, gave his knee a pat. Ron leaned forward and touched her hand, gently.

"I dunno if she still cares about _me_, but I missed her – I was important to her, Harry. For once, I was the most important person to someone."

"You're important to me," Harry replied quietly after a moment.

"It's not the same." Ron glanced at him ruefully. "You've got me, and Hermione – and you've got legions of people supporting you. I mean, I wouldn't trade being your friend for anything, or 'Mione's... but she's brilliant, and you're the Chosen One."

Harry barked a rueful laugh, quieting when it echoed against the walls. "I'd trade roles with you any day. I never wanted any of this."

"I know."

"I'm glad she makes you feel as important as you are, mate."

Ron smiled wanly and sat back in his chair. Greyback hadn't been transformed, so it was highly doubtful she'd be worse off than Bill. He wondered if the war had calmed her and if maybe he was using Lavender to "cope" - a term he'd heard from Hermione far too many times in the past year. Coping with the locket, with being hungry, with being trapped in a small space for too long.

Harry left some time later, but Ron didn't leave. He couldn't go home, to the house full of grief and pain. At least here, there was some sliver of hope.

* * *

Her wards were still untouched, no changes, no attempts to penetrate them, not that she really thought the Fidelius was easily defeated, but...better safe than sorry.

"I'm home," Hermione said softly, tapping on Professor Snape's door before opening it slowly. He was still asleep, and the monitoring spell showed no change. She was exhausted, and sat heavily in the chair next to the bed before casting the evening spells – potions into his system, cleansing charms, diagnostics, and charms for those trapped in bed this way.

"Where to start?" she murmured. "Alright. As always, Professor, it's me, Hermione Granger. We've won the war, and you're safe. Harry's alright. I'm alright, too, thank you for asking. You-Know-Who's _never_ coming back, either."

She paused, brushing her fingers against his sleeve. He was so still, so pale. She wondered if he could hear her. "They've started on trials. Harry and I went to the Malfoys'; they've all been let go, even Draco, you'll be pleased to hear. I don't know if I can trust the Aurors, or even the Healers. They're all looking for you, and keep pushing back your trial."

Setting her jaw, she looked at him, almost ethereal in the bed. "We'll make sure you're safe, that you're free. Even if I have to smuggle you out of the country. I don't know how to wake you up, how to help you, Professor. I wish you were awake enough to tell me what to do. I'm going to ask for help, someone you'll trust. I'll keep you safe, I promise, sir."

Hermione sniffed, dashing tears away angrily. She was so _emotional_ today. And exhausted, so very very tired. "I think I'll write that letter now, rather than tomorrow, then I'll go to bed before some more reading – I'll be back in the morning, sir."

Rising, she touched her hand to his forehead gently, watching, waiting, but there was no change.

"Sleep well, Professor. Get better soon." On impulse, she pressed a kiss to his brow the way her mum had done for her while she was sick. She was so tired. Maybe tonight she'd be able to sleep, free of fear and any Cruciatus backlash – tonight she planned on taking one of her Dad's muscle relaxers she'd found in the medicine cabinet. It was a bit of out of date, but maybe it'd work and let her sleep.

Probably not, but she could hope.

* * *

"Draco, dinner," Narcissa said softly from the doorway. That she'd chosen to retrieve him herself rather than sending an elf spoke volumes to him. They'd all been worried about the results today, and had all had the private fear that he would be made an example of.

"I'll be a moment," he replied. He wondered if he could convince Father to permit him a glass of Ogden's before bed. Mother had already cut him off from Dreamless, not that he disagreed with her. It was just easier to sleep if he didn't have to see it all in his mind, over and over.

She hesitated a moment, then swept from the room in a flurry of silks. It was so easy for her to slip back to life as it had been – was it because they'd gone through this before? He wished his godfather were here; he had no desire to ask Father about it.

He glanced down at the parchment on his desk. Granger and her odd, vague request. Silly Gryffindor, trying to be secretive. Clearly, she wanted something, and she was too much of a bleeding heart to walk him into a trap.

Besides, when he closed his eyes he saw all of them – the old wand maker and Loony Lovegood bloodied and frail and hungry in a dungeon that hadn't been used for years; Wormtail watching him with that odd, hungry look; Potter staring at him with those emerald green eyes, silently waiting for him to betray him; and Granger, writhing on the floor of _his_ home...her screams still echoed in his head when he tried to sleep. He owed her a chance to explain what she needed his help with, at least.

Clutching at the bloodstained cravat he'd recovered from the Aurors, he wished again for his godfather. He needed comfort, reassurance, guidance. He hadn't been found yet, and surely if someone had taken his body, it would have been an outlandish display of mutilation.

The thought made him sick to his stomach; his godfather was brilliant. He'd taught Draco so many things, things that had, ultimately, helped him over the years. So if he hadn't been taken, he must be safe. Injured, perhaps, but safe. There was hope; it was a tiny, tiny fragment of hope, and in his mind's eye he could picture it dulling, day by day, but it was still there.

Rising, he resolved to respond to Granger, and headed down to dinner.

* * *

Ginny curled into Harry's side on her mum's lumpy couch. She felt wrung out, tired...she was tired of the ghoul rattling around in Ron's room. She was tired of her family wandering around like ghosts, sick of crying over everyone.

She loved Harry, she did, but she didn't think she was in _love _with him anymore. He was comfortable and familiar and...safe. She was fairly certain that he wasn't in love with her, either. The kiss they'd exchanged had been hollow, and felt like kissing Ron. Or Percy, she supposed, what with the glasses and all.

She'd talk to him about it later, but for now...he was familiar and comforting, and urging her to go up to her room for bed. Leaving him there on the couch, alone and brooding, she wondered if there was any hope for either of them. Maybe there was another boy out there for her? Someone special, at the very least. Or maybe grief had dulled her heart.

* * *

Harry stared at the flames for a long time. Today had been busy. He'd visited with Ron, talked to Kingsley about the search for Snape, been to Draco's trial – thank Merlin for Hermione – and spent time with Ginny.

Well, as much as it could be called spending time with Ginny. She was lost in her own thoughts and pain, and he was lost in his. Or, rather, he was lost in his thoughts on Snape's thoughts. Snape's memories. Either way, the vial secreted in his pocket distressed him.

Where was he? What had happened to him? It _bothered_ Harry that he hadn't gone back to check sooner. Maybe he could have stopped whoever-it-was from taking Snape's body. Such a small thing to worry over – he'd finally defeated Voldemort, but he'd failed Snape. The man who'd sacrificed _so much_ for him, and he'd let him down. He felt horribly guilty every time his mind wandered there, so he kept trying to force himself to think instead of the memories.

It may have worked, except forcing himself to think of Snape's memories made him wish he'd learned Occlumency properly, and that made him think of Snape again. It was a vicious cycle.

Touching the vial in his pocket, he assured himself they were still there. They should be kept safe, Harry thought. In the tiny, tiny, chance that Snape had survived, he'd be pretty livid that Harry'd shouted his secret to everyone. No need for anyone to see all he'd gone through.

Harry curled his fingers into fists. He'd called Snape a coward. Had thought him a traitor and a murderer... why had he moved forward, then? Legilimency, maybe? Some last, desperate pull of Snape's magic? Maybe. There was an awful lot about magic he didn't know. Like love magic, his mother's magic.

Lily Evans. He hadn't really known _anything_ about her. Everyone put her up on some pedestal. Strangely, he was doubly grateful to Snape – he knew the good and bad about his father, and, now, his mother. Oh, she had been beautiful. And clearly good at charms – her skills in potions were decent, maybe on par with Hermione's, but most of it was her friendship with Snape.

He hadn't wanted to think his mother would have been so...callous. Shallow. It hurt, thinking of her and Snape talking – she'd said "her friends" didn't understand why she hung out with him. Not "her _other_ friends". And Snape himself, catching it, _needing _to know they were still best friends...that hurt. Harry knew what it was like to be friendless. He'd spent the first eleven years of his life that way, alone, unless you counted Mrs. Figg and her cats, or Dudley's gang beating him up.

Wondering what would have happened if his mother had forgiven Snape, he drew his feet up on the couch, watching the embers die. Would they have remained 'best friends'? Would Snape have become a Death Eater? Would Harry still have his parents?

So much he didn't know, the strange cuts in Snape's memories. He'd gone back, watched them again. They cut off in strange ways, sometimes. Like even in death, Snape'd had secrets. And that sad, strange look in the man's eyes, the push to go to the Pensieve...

Harry sighed, blinking back tears furiously. Too may people had died. Lost to him. He didn't have a family anymore, just memories of cold cups of tea left outside the bedroom door, and of a weary man and bark of laughter, and a godson who'd never know his father.

Why was it that now, after everything, all the hope he'd had, did it seem like things were darker than before?

He straightened suddenly. Or was it? In the forest, his parents and Sirius and Remus had come for him – all the people he'd viewed as family. Dumbledore had waited for him In Between. And he'd looked, peering past his mother, but _Snape hadn't been there and in that moment Harry had desperately wanted him to be_. It was so hard, seeing his parents, going to die, and he remembered wishing Snape was there – so brave through everything his memories had revealed. And the man had been absent.

Was it just a perverse wish of Snape's, to ignore Harry, to deny him aid?

Or was there hope that the man was still alive?

* * *

She was back again. Quiet, politely knocking before entering. He'd come to depend on her visits. Even when she chattered on, it was comforting to know he wasn't forgotten. When she left, the warmth of her magic faded, and he was left with what happy memories he could glean in her presence. Without them, he wallowed in the dark. He couldn't pull his Occlumency shields tight the way he should have been able to. It was as if his memories were fragmented. Why? He pushed and pulled at his memories, seeing where edges frayed.

"Alright. As always, Professor, it's me, Hermione Granger. We've won the war, and you're safe. Harry's alright. I'm alright, too, thank you for asking. You-Know-Who's _never_ coming back, either." Her voice was soft, weary.

_Won the war. Harry. You-Know-Who._ Potter. He'd given his memories to Lily's son. That's why he couldn't fix his shields. They were shattered, dust at his metaphysical feet. He should rebuild them, but he was so drained...and he didn't need them at the moment, did he? They'd been nearly impenetrable, protecting him from the Dark Lord _and_ Albus.

Warmth against his arm. She was touching him again. It was soothing, her presence, the knowledge she trusted him, cared at least for his well-being.

_Help me_, he wanted to tell her, but nothing happened. No words formed. No movement. He gathered all of his strength, but nothing happened. Her touch was warm on his brow, and he clung tightly to the memories she'd unlocked within him this time.

Lips on his brow – something he hadn't felt since he was a small, small child, before the mills closed, before his magic expressed itself (violently, if he recalled his mother's stories) – and then he was left alone with his memories.

_Rebuild_, he told himself.

At first, the fragments slipped away from him, and he couldn't maintain the time line he'd used before, not with the missing pieces. Floundering briefly, he tried for a different focus. _Granger_. Yes, that was it. Start with her first year. The hair, the buckteeth – a myriad of shooting hands, eager smiles, a few suspicious looks. Walls of parchment in cramped, rounded handwriting. Excellent.

His previous walls he'd built with memories where he'd felt cared for, Albus's vaunted "love", and he started this time with the same feeling, using that first "thank you" from Granger. The warmth that had spread through him the first time a student had thanked him – he discarded the suspicion he'd felt, until eaves dropping in the staff lounge that evening.

"_I do love having Muggleborns in my house," Filius was confiding to Pomona, who'd nodded far too vigorously for a woman who'd just imbibed her fifth glass of sherry. _

"_I agree! Must be a Muggle thing, to stop by and thank their teachers," she'd agreed, red-faced, hat wobbling precariously._

_Severus's suspicion faded. It was a Muggleborn thing? He hadn't attended Muggle schooling, himself. And of course, Granger, being an overachiever and a teacher's pet, would have risked the wrath of Professor Snape to be sure to thank every teacher at the school. She probably thanked Filch._

_For all he knew, she'd thanked Peeves._

_Minerva pursed her lips. "I admit I was...disappointed that Miss Granger didn't do the same."_

"_Perhaps it's a regional thing?" Filius squeaked._

_Pomona shook her head. "She's quite studious – maybe she went to one of those private schools and it's frowned upon there?"_

_Taking a sip of scotch, Minerva dared a glance at Severus, who was, to all eyes, reading an article and paying them no mind, his eyes moving, the occasional frown...he'd perfected this years ago._

"_Well, she didn't thank me," she sniffed. "I admit, I look forward to it, every year. Such a small thing, as we all know. Such a shame Severus' house never has any Muggleborns. Or perhaps he'd only castigate them!"_

_They eventually changed the topic, but his heart was pounding. He'd been special. Granger hadn't stopped to say it to anyone else. Just him. It made him want to smile again, and he'd left the lounge in a flurry of robes before he could._

Affection; an excellent basis. He built that with each successive year's "thank you", until he could pull together a shoddy wall to protect his battered psyche. A veritable army of shyly smiling Hermione Grangers slowly growing older, a litany of thanks.

He picked up the first piece. He'd always started with Lily, but the memories were gone. _Potter_. He mourned their loss. He remembered, now, choosing which memories to curtain off in his mind, so he had a vague recollection of what they contained.

His metaphysical fingers touched the frayed thread where the memory should have gone. He'd always been tactile, needing to touch and play, and his brand of Occlumency was no different. It was what was natural for him; as a child he'd apparently started early, imagining brick walls and strong doors to keep the nightmares at bay. Sentinels were his mother, standing between him and his father. It'd worked, and once he'd realised what, exactly, he'd been doing, he'd expounded upon it.

The Dark Lord had never even known Severus could do these things. He merely assumed Albus had been fool, so blindly trustworthy. How foolish.

Severus built a place for the lost memories to go, touching each missing piece with a sort of sadness, long fingers brushing the tattered edges. _Lily_. His friend, his first love, his last love. He needed to strengthen this wall.

Albus was dead; he needn't keep his secrets any longer. Severus handled these memories carefully. They were powerful, his emotions still raw, even after all of this time.

_Let me die, he'd thought, approaching the Order safe house where Potter and Lily were staying. He couldn't do Dumbledore any good – the Dark Lord had multiple spies throughout the Ministry and Severus was no closer in the past months to discovering their identities than anyone else._

_Potter was out, he knew, with Black and Lupin on that bloody motorcycle. Lily had had her baby a few months ago, it was cold with the first frost of winter, and what he'd done hung over him, tainting everything he did and said._

_And now he was a spy, and even more powerless than before. He had to watch people die. They were killed and tortured and it wasn't what had been talked about behind bed curtains in school; there was no power, no glory, only emptiness and despair and he couldn't do this any longer._

_He didn't even hesitate – he simply knocked on the door, wand held out in the palm of his hand; an offering. _

"_Coming!" called Lily's voice, bright and vibrant. The door yanked open – Merlin, did she have no sense, merely opening it for a knock? - and she just...stared at him, at his wand, pressing a fist to her breastbone._

"_Please kill me," he said, averting his eyes. "I don't deserve this. I know. But please...Lily, kill me."_

"_Sev?" Oh, how the name hurt on her lips. "Sev, what are you doing here?"_

"_It's my fault, I'm sorry." He swallowed. No more pain, after tonight. She hated him still, he was certain. "I heard the prophecy – I didn't know who it'd meant. I didn't even know you were with child, I swear it. I'm sorry."_

_She didn't move. _

"_Oh, please, kill me, end this...it's more than I deserve. Please, please just kill me..."_

"_No, Sev...come in."_

_And she drew him into the safe house, her hand warm on his, forcing him to grasp his wand. "Sev...I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."_

_He shook his head vehemently, lank hair flying. "You need not apologise. This is entirely my doing. I thought it best to extend to you the courtesy of killing the one who'd betrayed you."_

"_Unwittingly, I'd wager." Her voice was strained. "Albus told me, about everything."_

_He sank into a chair. Of course Dumbledore had told her._

"_James doesn't know," she said, and he tried not to let the name burn him. "I asked because – Oh, Sev, I'm so sorry – you left, on my wedding day...I didn't want to see you, but you left before everything registered..."_

_And then her arms were around him. "I'm so sorry, Sev! I was a horrible friend! You didn't join them until after I married, did you? Your arms were pale, so empty – I saw the card you'd gotten for me, for us..."_

_They both began to weep, apologising for every hurt, every wrong. He'd missed her. He'd been so alone, and forgave her for everything. _

"_I'm so sorry, Sev, I don't hate you, I'm sorry..forgive me, please..."_

"_Of course," his voice was hoarse. "I'll always forgive you, Lily."_

_She blinked back tears, looking into his anguished face. "I forgive you, too. I'm so sorry – I was selfish and childish...don't shake your head at me, I've been cooped up too long to not do a great deal of introspection...and I'm sorry for driving you to You-Know-Who."_

"_You didn't...it was a catalyst, perhaps, but the choice was mine in the end."_

"_And you regret it."_

"_Indeed."_

_She gave him a wan smile. "Does Albus know you're here?"_

_He shook his head, snorting. "And allow me to risk myself by coming here? No."_

_The memory blurred – age had erased most of the conversation, as he hadn't thought the pleasantries and catching up worth retaining. Time had passed, a great deal of it judging by the clock on the mantle. They'd slipped into their friendship in a favorite jumper._

_Lily paused, brushing her beautiful hair back over her shoulders. "Would you... would you like to meet Harry? He'll wake from his nap soon. I swear, he's like clockwork."_

"_I..." he hesitated. It was Potter's spawn, but Lily's, too. "Yes."_

_Her smile was as gentle as her footfalls on the stairs, and she opened a door quietly. Sure enough, he heard the soft sounds of a babe stirring in the wooden crib._

"_Hello, little man," Lily crooned softly, reaching down. "I want you to meet someone. Do you remember how Mommy told you about her lost friend Severus? She's found him..."_

_She picked up the little bundle and smiled brilliantly at him, looking as impish and happy as she'd been as a child. Directing him to hold out his arms, she looked rather impressed that he already knew how to hold a babe. "Severus, meet Harry. Harry, Severus."_

_Severus looked down into Lily's eyes, and his expression softened. The small boy reached up, laying a curious hand on his nose. "There will be none of that, Mister Potter."_

_Lily laughed, smiling brilliantly at him. "He likes you."_

_A small smile curled his lips. "A Potter liking me – Floo the Prophet, Lily, it's a miracle."_

"_Don't be silly. Two Potters like you – me, and Harry." Harry reached up for his nose again. "He's going to have amazing reflexes when he grows older. James reckons he'll be grand at Quidditch."_

_Severus winced and readjusted his grip on Lily's son. _

"_Sev...can I ask you something?"_

"_Anything," he replied, moving his nose out of Harry's reach. The infant instead curled a hand around the wool of his coat._

"_James asked Sirius to be Harry's godfather." Severus was quiet, waiting for her to continue. "Muggles usually have two godparents."_

"_And?"_

"_Sirius is..well, he's James' best friend, but he can be reckless."_

"_I know," he said dryly. "I doubt he's even looked into the duties entailed in becoming a godfather, let alone the bond one can create."_

_Lily smiled. "I want you to be Harry's godfather, too."_

_Startled, he stared at her. "Lily, you cannot be serious. You cannot even be sure you can trust me, and you would initiate such a bond between myself and your son?"_

"_See? That's my Sev. If Dumbledore's signed you on as a spy, he's ripped your mind apart. You're my best friend – not Alice or Marlene or Sirius or even Remus – it's always been you. And I know that you'd do everything in your power to protect Harry should something happen to us."_

_He swallowed hard, and the boy yawned, blinking up at him with his mother's eyes. _

"_Albus would not allow it."_

"_Then we don't tell him," Lily said mulishly. "It's funny, I've wanted to write you for ages, apologise properly, invite you for tea...but this feels right. Harry needs you in his life, no matter how long it takes me to work James into behaving. Can you keep this from Albus?"_

"_I would have to, and can," Severus replied honestly. "He, as you so eloquently put it, 'ripped my mind apart' because I allowed it. No other reason. Should I choose to hide something, no one would ever find it behind my walls."_

"_What makes them so strong, anyway?" Lily asked, taking Harry from him to seat herself in the rocking chair._

_His mouth dried and he turned around to allow her privacy. "You."_

_Her breath caught. "Oh, Sev..."_

"_Do not apologise. It is out of your hands."_

"_I wasn't going to. I did, and do, love you, Sev, just...not like that."_

"_As I am aware." Oh, Merlin, how that hurt to admit aloud. But he'd promised himself honesty before coming here. _

_He waited for her to finish, and turned when she gave permission. Gazing at her, he made his decision. "Yes."_

"_Yes?" Lily's brilliant smile graced him._

"_Yes."_

The memory seared into his mental shields, left him exhausted, near-depleted and he wondered if his body was gasping for air, or if it was only his mind, gasping for magic. Deciding the walls he'd wrought were sufficient, for the time being, and he gathered the pieces of the warm memories Granger's presence had restored to him like precious treasures to keep the darker ones at bay.

Yes, he decided firmly. If he could rebuild his walls, he could awaken, free his body of whatever paralysis gripped it. There was hope for him yet.

* * *

Phew. Alrighty. :) Finally, a nice, long update for Guilt and a Smile!

And now a nice,long hiatus while I go get married!


	14. Chapter 14: Swear To It

**Author's Note: I'm back! Here's a very short chapter to tide you over.**

* * *

**Chapter 14 – Swear To It**

"You want me to _what_?" Draco's voice was petulant, and Hermione's lips thinned in annoyance.

"Swear it!" Her voice was a deadly hiss – she was too damn tired for this. "That's all I'm asking right now!"

"You want me to _swear _not to reveal things you aren't even _telling _me, blindly?" He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "You'd best start talking, Granger, or I'm leaving."

Hermione glanced over her shoulder. The bookstore she'd chosen to meet him at was nearly deserted, and she'd cast a Muffliato, but still, better safe than sorry. She exhaled, frantically trying to think of what to tell him. If he was questioned, he should have an easy truthful answer to give, she thought. Giving him a calculating look, she capitulated. "I Obliviated my parents, sent them abroad, and haven't yet found them – I assume that Malfoys have more resources and connections than I do."

Draco frowned, studying her. "There's more, Granger. You're holding something back, you're a terrible liar."

"It's called _plausible deniability_, ferret!" Frankly, she thought she'd made a damn good point. He actually seemed to be considering the implications of it.

"How about this, then -" he held up a hand to stop her protest, "- I come with you, see _exactly _what it is you need my vaunted assistance with, and then, I will decide if it's worth a vow to you, Granger. Say what you want about my family and our ethics, but we know how to protect ourselves."

"Fine. Are you able to come with me now?" Her body sang with tension.

He blinked, surprised.

"Malfoy, I promise, I'm not trying to trick you, I won't harm you, and I _do_ need your help, and I'll do my best to keep you out of any trouble, not that I'm expecting any, and -"

"Shut up, Granger." He smoothed a non-existent lock of hair from his brow. "Alright, let's go to wherever you're taking me and get this over with."

The look she gave him – so full of relief and gratitude, clearly almost gave him pause, but she grasped him by the wrist and nearly dragged him to the nearest apparition point, spinning him and herself into nothing, then to her parents' front lawn.

* * *

She didn't even pause to tell him where they were, pulling him to the wards and through, forcing himself to ignore the shiver-inducing tingle of her power. Fairly certain that this place – most likely her house, judging by its Muggle nature and her familiarity with it.

"Only the three of us now, including you, can get in, I put it under Fidelius," Granger was telling him. He tried to ignore the twitching of her arm muscles - they made him feel guilty, knowing what she'd gone through, knowing how badly the tremors affected a person, especially after how his father.. He forced a stop to his thoughts and looked at the house.

It was clean, a little impersonal, as if the inhabitants had been gone for a while, supporting her story about sending her parents away. A glance into what appeared to be a kitchen showed signs of only one person's dishes. He wondered who the third person was.

"- and I'm so terrified that I've done something wrong, and so, I need your help, Malfoy," she was saying. What? He wrenched his attention back to her.

"You don't screw up, Granger." Merlin, that hurt to say, following her up the stairs.

"I do, just not often." She made a sad face, scrunching it up outside of a closed door. "I need your help – Draco. Please."

And she swung the door swung open.

He stared a moment, not caring if his expression was schooled as it should be, heart in his throat, before he managed to rasp out. "Alright. I'll swear it."

* * *

Short, but there'll be more to come! ^_^.


	15. Chapter 15: Energy Expended

**Author's Note: I sort of borrowed a bit from fantasy series 'The Spellsong Cycle'. You may or may not recognise it, but if you do, nice! :-D I'm a dork. It just..made so much sense to me to use it here. I mean, seriously. **

****Also - posted quickly after ch14. You may need to go back one if you haven't read it yet :)**  
**

* * *

**Chapter 15 – Energy Expended**

"Why did you take him? I mean – _how_ -" Malfoy looked at his godfather, utterly lost.

_He looks like a little boy_, Hermione thought, suddenly sad at the thought of a little Draco Malfoy missing the man in the bed. His gray eyes drank in Professor Snape, and he stopped himself from reaching out to touch him.

"He was on our side," she said tiredly. "He didn't deserve to be left there to die...I – I did what I could. He took something, some potion, I don't know what it was – and then...he was bitten. He passed memories to Harry, I tried to heal him, set up a Portkey in case _I _didn't live...and then I came back...he's been like this ever since."

Malfoy examined the monitoring charm she'd set over the professor. "Odd – doesn't look like there should be a problem, all the signs look like we learned."

She nodded wearily. She was exhausted again – far too quickly than before, and she couldn't figure out why.

"What did you give him?" Hermione looked blankly at Malfoy, shivering slightly. Her body'd been singing with tension far too long. "Granger. What. Did. You. Give. Severus?"

"I wrote it down – there's a notebook on the side table. Felix Felicis, Phoenix Tears, for sure... I think a replenisher for his blood? I can't remember just now." Why was he moving like he was through water? She squeezed her eyes shut and sat down abruptly, her back against the professor's bed. "I took his files, too – to check for allergies, anything he's been taking recently..."

God, was that her voice? She sounded far away. Her arm twitched, violently, and she tipped her head back, uncaring if her hair would potentially tickle Professor Snape's hand.

"I have the vial of whatever he took – I don't know how to identify it. It has no scent, and I'm certainly about to taste it..." She shivered again, hearing him leaf through the notebook she'd been keeping. It shouldn't be cold in here, should it? Maybe she needed to eat? She had eaten that morning, hadn't she? Granted, she was expending quite a bit of magic, with the monitoring charm, and the wards, Apparating with Malfoy, pulling Malfoy through her warding...

"Granger?" Hermione blinked. When had he crouched in front of her? "Granger, snap out of it. What's wrong?"

"Tired," she managed. His gray eyes narrowed. They were like ice, and she shook a little. "Backlash, too."

"Tired, my arse," he muttered, drawing his wand. Unable to muster the energy to even flinch, she watched him as he ran through a couple of charms she didn't recognize. "Shite. Come on."

Rising, he grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. "You're nearly depleted. What the hell are you anchoring your wards to?"

"Anchoring?"

"Anchoring. You know – household wards need to be attached to a fixed point in the home?" She stared at him blankly as he walked her down the hall and back down to the kitchen. "Merlin! Don't they _teach_ you Muggle-borns that? No wonder the raids were so successful... Release the wards, Granger."

Hermione felt a flutter of panic. "No!"

"Granger. You're holding them up despite having them up for days, and now there's a second active magical signature in the house – mine. You're going to drain entirely. You have the house under Fidelius, that's fixed. Let the wards go, we'll anchor them once you've slept. Alright?"

She shook her head weakly. "No, not safe."

He stopped suddenly. "Granger – Hermione. I'm not going to let anything happen to him, or you. I swear on my wand that no harm will come to anyone in this house, nor will I remove him, or reveal his location or your complicity to anyone – not even my own parents."

The feeling of his magic tingled over her. He meant it. She really did feel like shit. She'd felt this bad a few times, after lots of casting and Apparition to and from Hogwarts, but sleep and food had always rectified it.

"Come on, let go."

Brown eyes met gray and she let the wards drop, feeling each one fall. He ran his wand over her again, using the same spells from earlier. "Better. I can't do anything about the backlash right now, but you should eat and rest. I'll go over what you've done so far, see if I can figure out what potion Severus took."

"_Professor_ Snape," she chided, letting him pull her into the kitchen, where he stood helplessly, clearly not knowing what to do. _Probably always had house elves to do everything for him_, she thought, not uncharitably.

He gave her a haughty look. "He's been Severus or Uncle to me for far longer than a professor. I will call him as I please."

Apologetic, she forced herself to give him a brief tour of the kitchen, how to use the microwave, at the least, warming some leftover pasta.

"You'll need to eat more than that," Malfoy advised. "Why do you think Hogwarts' meals are huge, but we don't gain much weight?"

Hermione shrugged. Honestly, she hadn't thought about it, considering how much running about the castle they did. He sighed, pushing the loaf of bread at her.

"Magic consumes energy – a starving wizard won't have much magic, Granger. And since I can tell you're wondering – heftier witches and wizards have usually grown into their magic fully, and just aren't expending as much magic as they are capable of on a daily basis. Frankly, with as emaciated you are, it's a wonder you've kept up your wards this long without damaging your magic entirely." She paled, staring at him. "Eat."

Digging into the bowl of pasta, she ate. After months of barely eating, eating this much was difficult, but with him watching her, she managed. "I don't feel any better."

"You will. Bed for you; I'll watch over Severus."

"Will you talk to him?" He gave her a quizzical look. "I've been talking to him – some Muggles believe that people can hear you if they're in a coma, it's supposed to be comforting, and I don't want him to be alone anymore."

By time she'd managed to tell him that, they'd arrived at her bedroom door, across from the professor's. "Please, Draco?"

He sighed. "I'll do what I can. I'll check on you in a few hours. I'll have to go back home at some point."

Nodding tiredly, Hermione tried to open her bedroom door as her leg spasmed. He caught her, helping her inside.

"You might want to use a Silencing Charm on the door," she told him, eyes wild. "Sometimes I scream."

Draco got her to her bed, barely sparing a glance at the room. He paused at her door, wand drawn to cast the charm, and looked at her.

"I'm sorry," he blurted suddenly, looking like a child for the second time that day, before he closed the door, leaving her alone with tremors and exhaustion.

* * *

Draco slid his wand back into place, guilt gnawing at his stomach. Granger was hurting, and he hadn't done anything to alleviate it. He knew Severus had given his father a potion before; surely it wouldn't take much of his pride to inquire about it? Certainly, Father would see it as a small gesture on Draco's part for her outburst at his trial.

Crossing the hall, he bent, picking up the notebook and looking at the man in the bed. "You certainly have it rough, trapped here with Granger."

There was, of course, no reply. Conjuring a chair, Draco sat, cracking the spine and turning to the first page.

"She's trying, at least, and – you'll appreciate this – she's called _me_ in for help, rather than Potter. In case she hasn't told you, I'm fine, as are Mother and Father. And you seem to be well-protected." He considered the wards again. "You'll be amused to know that Granger didn't know about anchoring or how to watch her magical levels. Merlin! Don't they teach them these things?"

Granger's handwriting was rounded and neat, but cramped, and he looked over everything she'd tried, amused at how it more or less became a – he scoffed – _diary. _

_'_I talked to Professor Snape today for longer than I intended – I hope he can hear me,' he read. 'At the same time, I'm both worried I'm bothering him and hopeful that he'll wake up, if only to tell me to stuff it.'

There were pages of notes on what she'd tried on the mystery vial – she'd gone about it all wrong, but, he admitted grudgingly, that wasn't necessarily Granger's fault, as that was taught in seventh year Potions. She had made _some_ headway, however.

Draco stretched, wincing as his back realised just how long he'd been sitting. "Well, this was pleasant – I'll go wake Granger, then I'll return to the Manor. Mother doesn't appreciate me taking long outings at the moment, you know."

He paused next to the bed, resisting the urge to reach down and touch him. "I'm glad you're alright, Severus. I – I'm sorry, I should have listened to you more. I should have trusted you. I was..blinded by my own troubles to see that you really wanted to help me and my family."

Blinking bad sudden tears, he cursed his own weakness. "I'll come back in the morning; see you then."

* * *

"Draco?" Lucius' voice rang out from the parlor. Cursing, he spun on his heel, presenting himself to the man in the plush wing-back chair.

"Father."

"Your mother was concerned." That was Lucius, Draco knew, for 'we were both concerned, and want to know where you were'.

"I visited a book shop," he replied nonchalantly. "I was trying to find something on _that_ potion Severus gave you. I thought it may be a fitting token."

"Ah." Draco watched Father twirl the wine glass in his hand by the stem. "I'm afraid it was one of Severus' own devising, and, unfortunately, I've used the last of it."

Draco kept his impression the same. "That's too bad. Thank you, Father, I'll find something else."

"Do drop in on your mother before you head up," Lucius called after him.

Sighing, Draco headed for the tea room, where his mother was sure to be lingering. He'd have to see if Granger wanted to try Severus' house for notes on the potion formula. In that case, however, he'd have to make headway tomorrow first on identifying the potion his godfather had taken. No sense in wasting a trip and trying to get through whatever wards Severus had set on his property.

* * *

Nice to see that they're adapting quickly to working together for a common goal, truly. See you all next chapter! *zooms off*


	16. Chapter 16: I Can Be Magnanimous

**Author's Note: Nothing to say here. Doot doot doot.  
**

* * *

**Chapter 16 – I Can Be Magnanimous**

He'd kicked her out of her own basement! Hermione fumed as she stirred her tea far more vigorously than intended. Malfoy'd been true to his word, waking her last night, then returning today just after breakfast.

Surprisingly, he'd managed to avoid being _too_ snide when going over anchoring wards, and had even been reasonably patient when, ever the swot, she'd had further questions – Why anchor? Why had she had no problem maintaining wards around a tent for almost a year, but couldn't manage a full week at her own house? Why did the number of magical signatures matter? At least they were up and anchored now, and, she had to admit, it wasn't a drain on her magic.

Having eaten breakfast – one almost so hearty she felt rather sick – she'd shown him where she'd set up the basement for potions, and he'd begun with the mystery potion. Malfoy'd even been kind enough to walk her briefly through the process. Granted, she'd been chagrined when the first thing he did was cancel a charm on the vial, and an acrid smell emanated from it.

"Don't look so down, Granger," he'd said. "He did that when I was a kid and would refuse to take any potion that smelled bad, even if I was sick."

Hermione'd smiled at him – it was weird, seeing him act like a human being, even if the next thing he did was hunch his shoulders defensively and get to work. Of course, then she'd started pestering him with questions and now she was in her kitchen, barred from the basement with orders to drink some tea and eat something.

_He's been gone an awfully long time_, Hermione thought, scowling at her mug. _I even made extra sandwiches for him_! Sandwiches that were getting a bit dried out at this point, and she sighed, rising from her seat to cover them with plastic wrap. If he was going to eject her from the basement, she'd make him work for his damn sandwiches.

She managed a smile, trying to imagine Draco Malfoy struggling with the clear clinging plastic. Or the microwave – the git could probably push buttons pretty easily, though. She wondered if he could cook on his own at all. Most likely not.

It was nearly another _hour_ – in which she paced, put the tea under stasis, and spent time making another pile of sandwiches for later – before he emerged from the basement, face tense. "Oh, tea, thank Merlin."

"You're welcome," Hermione said. "But I prefer 'Hermione' to 'Merlin'."

He glared her, setting the tea pot down with a thunk. "Granger, I've nearly singed off my fingertips, narrowly avoided poisoning myself, and you want to yell at me for being ungrateful about bloody _tea_?"

She shrugged stiffly. "_You kicked me out_."

"You were annoying." He reached for a sandwich, only to encounter the plastic. "What the hell?"

Hermione stifled a giggle, watching him wrestle with the clinging material. "It's plastic wrap – Muggles use it, since they don't have stasis charms."

Malfoy added sugar to his teacup – far more than she would have thought, and wondered if she should be offended on behalf of her tea-making skills – and selected his sandwiches before speaking. "Muggle oddities aside, Granger... we're going to need to go on a field trip, after I find out from Mother where Severus lives when he's not at Hogwarts."

"No need," Hermione said, surprised. "I've been there."

The sandwich fell to the plate. "_When_? What were _you _doing at his _house?!_"

She flushed. "Don't be a-a _pervert_, Malfoy," she hissed at him, bristling. "I went to tell him I trusted him! To offer to help! It would have been _awful _for him to think he was all alone! He's done so much for me, for _all _of us, without expecting anything! Even you, you miserable little prick!"

He flushed an ugly red, from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

"Don't even!" She cut him off before he could respond. "As annoyed as I am with you, it's too late. And you can't stand up for yourself this time – you were rude, and arrogant, and, yes, you had problems at home, but you were a selfish gift, ferret, and that's all I'm saying! You impugn my honor – _and_ his – just to continue that behavior. It's wrong of you, now stop it!"

A muscle twitched under his eye, and he bit viciously into his sandwich, clearly opting to seethe instead of reply. Hermione sighed. Really, she hadn't meant to lose her temper.

"Sorry." Gray eyes glared at her, and he either kept chewing due to politeness, or was pointedly ignoring her now. She exhaled, frustrated. "I didn't mean to go off on you like that, really."

He swallowed and gave her a snide look. "Granger – I'm going to do something magnanimous, and you're going to thank me. I am going to pretend that you didn't say any of that, that we're going to work together nicely to heal my godfather, and to that end – you're going to stop calling me ferry or Malfoy, and I'm going to _try_ calling you by your name. Deal?"

Hermione gave him a relieved smile. "Thanks, Draco."

He shrugged uncomfortably, and she rose from the table. "I'm going to check on the Professor – eat lunch, then we'll go, and you can explain what we'll be looking for."

In response, Draco waved his sandwich towards the door and refilled his teacup.

* * *

He heard it – a soft knock on the door. _Miss Granger._

"Sorry, Professor, for disturbing you." She was always so quiet when she entered his room, as if afraid of his ire. "Draco's downstairs, having lunch, then, I'm sorry, sir, but we're going to need to go to your house."

_My home?_ Her fingertips were warm against the inside of his wrist, her pulse fluttering with his. _Why are you going to that awful place, Miss Granger?_ He didn't want her or his godson in that god-forsaken shithole.

"Draco and I have a truce, of sorts," she said, the bed dipping with her weight. "Something about that mystery potion you took, sir. He thinks we'll find what we need there. We just want you to wake up."

_Did something go wrong with the antivenin? _He couldn't think of anything that would compound it. Granted, he didn't know what Granger had done to save him, but he highly doubted that it was anything that would cause this coma-like state.

He wanted to be free of this – trapped in his body, unable to see, move, or speak...it was maddening, forced to chose between being aware of his condition or building his walls or allowing himself to slip into sleep.

True, it was genius of her to ask his godson for assistance, and he was more than a little surprised the boy had agreed to help – they hadn't been on the best of terms. However, as he knew, guilt was an excellent motivator.

The feeling of Granger's magic washed over him – cleansing charms, he knew, to keep a patient clean and refreshed.

"I can't just leave you here like this." She sounded...oddly broken. He'd admittedly tuned her out in the past minutes. "It's not _right, _but I can't – I'm sorry..."

He was floating, moving gently, then the sound of running water. Was she going to drown him? Had the girl gone _mad_?

No – warm water sluiced over his head, his hair... more than once, cupped handfuls, maybe. Then – oh, blessed Nimue! - fingers against his scalp, the scent of shampoo.

"What are you doing?" Draco sounded odd with the echo of water off the tiles.

"Washing his hair," Granger replied. "I _know_ it's not right of me to take such a liberty, but we don't know when we'll be able to help him, and I _hate_ that I have to leave him alone and untouched... it's just a little human contact..." A sniffle. "When I was Petrified, I nearly went mad, I think. I felt itchy almost all the time, and I _desperately _wanted clean hair – I felt the tug on my head from how they'd lain me down, and knew it wasn't Petrified, too, and I felt dirty. It's a small thing to do for Professor Snape, but... it just struck me, how much I wanted to do something for him."

"It's a liberty he won't thank you for," his godson warned her. Warm blunt fingers against his hand. "You're far too thin, Severus."

Of course, he couldn't reply to his unlikely nursemaids, but it was _wonderful_ to feel water on his skin, to have her fingers scrubbing away dirt and oil. No matter how proficient one was in charms, it did not take the place of actual bathing, and he felt refreshed.

"Why does it matter to you, anyway?" Draco sounded curious. _Where has your subtlety gone?_

"He smiled at me."

"What?"

"It's a common practice," she told him, water once again on his head, rinsing away shampoo, "in Muggle schools, at least, to thank your teachers at the end of the year. At the end of my first year – I didn't know how to apologise for not trusting him. I felt awful. I went to him, first, to thank all the teachers, hoping the right thing to say would come to me. I'd just meant to thank him first..."

Her hands were in his hair again, this time with another substance, and he wished he could enjoy the sensations more, that he could tell her how lovely it felt.

"But, Draco.. he _smiled_ – just an involuntary twitch of his lips, I swear, but...it made me feel better. I still felt awful, but... I just went home, then. Every year, I've thanked Professor Snape and no one else. It started because I'd felt enormously guilty, but I kept doing it because of that tiny little smile – and by the third year, it was so real and genuine..."

She _had_ made him smile. Year after year, despite her various crimes. Her soft thanks and various letters had given him a light in a dark time.

"Then again, he pushed us the most. He's an excellent teacher, in spite of his temperament, and he's always protected us, kept us safe, and taught us more than we thought we needed." Draco's hands joined hers on his scalp, rinsing out whatever it was she'd just used. "After the whole Quirrell fiasco, I promised myself I'd never distrust him again, Draco. And he's never given me a reason not to."

"Huh." It was Draco's magic that dried his hair. She was right – it _did _make him feel more human. "He's not going to like that we're going through his house, Hermione."

_You are correct – I dislike the thought of the two of you rummaging...and yet, I want to be able to move again_. He dearly hoped that they were finished – if he had to listen to more of this sentimental drivel she was starting to spew, he'd hex her first once he awoke.

She sighed. "I know. I just want to help him."

_Help me_. He probed the bonds to Draco and pushed gently. _Help me._

* * *

"I feel so awkward, breaking into Professor Snape's house," she said, and he had to agree with her. He vaguely remembered the house, he thought. Had his mother brought him here? Had Severus, back when he was still 'Uncle'?

"It's not locked," Granger said, and he rolled his eyes. Of course it wouldn't be – Severus would have set the wards to allow only certain people entry, and no _Muggle_ would be able to cross them.

"Come on," Draco told her instead, dragging her past the library – Merlin, if he let her in there she'd never leave – and upstairs. It felt almost like he was being told where to go. They passed a bedroom that looked clean but abandoned, impersonal. The second obviously belonged to Severus – there were a handful of books on Magical Theory piled on the nightstand, a large bureau with more Muggle clothing than Draco had ever thought the man would own, and a couple of cloaks and frock-coats in the closet, along with assorted shoes.

"I'm in Professor Snape's bedroom..." Hermione was cringing.

"I've been in his rooms at Hogwarts, and when he stays at the Manor," he told her briskly. "Stop making it more than it is. It's not like you've never been in a man's bedroom before."

"Just my dad's," she replied. "Ron and Harry don't count... they're like _brothers_..."

He made a moue of distaste at Weasley's name and began looking for wards. Whatever they needed to find had been specifically tailored against the Dark Lord's snake, and it would be smart to hide it. But there _were _no wards in the room. It was insane! He knew that Pettigrew – Draco suppressed a shudder at the thought of the sniveling coward – had stayed here briefly. Surely his godfather wasn't stupid enough to leave things unwarded?

"What's wrong?" He jumped when she put a hand on his shoulder. Embarrassed, he shook her off.

"There's no wards."

"Odd, for a wizard," she mused, turning to survey the room. "But not for a _Muggle_ – Draco, it's a Muggle neighborhood, a Muggle house... He has Muggle clothing...maybe he hid things that way, too?"

"I doubt it – what sort of wizard would leave important objects like that unwarded?"

"_Exactly_ – Professor Snape is _brilliant_. He's been a spy for decades! He knows how people would search, right? How they'd try to find things?" Draco nodded, wondering where she was going.

"Residium Revelio."

Traces of magic appeared all around them, and Grang – Hermione, he corrected himself – looked rather pleased.

"It's all little magic...see, traces of an Accio, a couple of silencing spells on the windows and door...but, Draco, look! There's a Reparo on the floorboard you're standing on."

Quickly, he moved and crouched to examine it. "Congratulations, Hermione, you found a broken floorboard."

She gave him a dirty look. "Git. My cousin hid things under his floorboard when he was little. All sorts of things. Professor Snape was a little boy once – to hear Harry tell it, in this house. He'd know a loose spot -" Her heel came down on the board, and it broke with a sickening crack. She grinned in triumph. "- and how to hide things in plain sight. Brilliant!"

Draco moved the board aside and hesitantly reached into the space. When nothing bit at his fingers, he maneuvered the bundle up and out. There was only a trace of preservation charms – not a single ward. He marveled. He never would have thought to look there.

Hermione dispelled her Revelio, and dropped down next to him as he began to go through the items inside. He snorted.

"His OWL and NEWT scores, figures – Merlin's knees, those are high..." Hermione smiled and pulled another sheaf of papers out.

"Look, I wrote him these...every summer... they're all here..." He gave her a queer look. "Except the last one. Well, I suppose he couldn't keep _that _one lying around...Not at Hogwarts, with the Carrows there, watching his every move, too..."

She scanned her letters to their professor briefly, and they examined a few items – a shrunken toy broomstick, a dried and brittle flower, held together by magic. There was a set of Gobstones, too, dark with age.

"This was mine," Draco said suddenly, grinning. He pulled out a twisted, misshapen lump of metal that had once been a stirring rod. "First one I ever melted. Singed his eyebrows off, too... I thought Father would be _furious_, but Uncle just glamored them on, winked at me, and told him it was his fault the cauldron had exploded... I didn't know he'd kept it..."

Hermione smiled at him. "Did he teach you Potions often?"

Draco hesitated, then nodded. "Every summer, until Father sent me to a proper school, the two before Hogwarts, for etiquette. Most Purebloods attend, some Half-Bloods, depending on their family."

"Explains a lot," she muttered, then pulled out a set of journals. "Research, do you think? Or private?"

"With what's in here?" He gestured at the collection of papers and items they'd found. They reminded him of the sort of thing he'd collected when he was younger – tokens and souvenirs of happy times, before Father had informed him that he had no need for useless things, and Dobby'd swept them away. "Probably private."

Too late – she'd flipped one open and was skimming through it. Then the second, third, and fourth. "Here! It looks like part of the antivenin – looks like from when Mr. Weasley was bitten... Draco, he worked on the antidote with St. Mungo's, oh, he's noted it here, 'amended'..."

They dug desperately through the remaining items, but there were no other journals. Nothing even remotely resembling research. Just silly trinkets and odds and ends. She looked as defeated as he felt.

"Hogwarts, maybe?" he offered weakly. "I heard the office sealed itself off.."

She nodded. "Let's go. Maybe the castle will let us through."

"Right." He rose and dusted off his suit. Pausing only briefly to consider it, he offered her his hand and pulled her to her feet, too. "It's fairly late – we should be able to get in and out without anyone noticing, right?"

"Let's go."

* * *

"It's not _opening_," Draco said, slamming his hand into the wall. "Stop saying stupid passwords!"

"Something _has _to work! I'm not just giving up!" How dare he give up so easily? They finally had a chance at an answer. "Eileen! Gobstones!"

"Just give up."

"No!"

"We can try later, someone's going to catch us."

"I'm not giving in, Draco Malfoy, you've got another think coming if -"

He scowled. "Oh, yes, you're Hermione Granger and no one's as sma-"

"Draco!"

"-as smart as you! You think you're -"

"_Draco!_"

"- the brightest bloody witch of your age -"

"_DRACO!_" He stopped his tirade. The door had opened.

"It's open," he said, feeling rather stupid.

"Yes." Hermione wiped sweaty palms on her jeans. "You opened it. Good job. Let's go up."

Draco began running up the stairs and she followed, heart in her throat.

Professor Snape's password had been her name.

* * *

Phew! Getting closer to answers, now! :)


	17. Chapter 17: Sweet Kid

**Author's Note: Semi-short chapter. I didn't want to spend too much of it on memories...**

**Also, belated Happy Mother's Day to every reader of mine who's a mother, or mother-to-be! :)**

* * *

**Chapter 17: Sweet Kid**

Dumbledore's portrait had, thankfully, either been asleep or pretending to be asleep, and while Phineas Black raised an eyebrow, he hadn't spoken to either of them. They'd found Professor Snape's journals in the drawer of the desk – both had been lightly warded, but sprang open to Draco's touch.

The amended antivenin had indeed been in the journal, as had, thankfully, the potion for Cruciatus backlash. Draco was confident that between the two of them, they could manage both brews.

"Both?" Hermione was dismayed.

"Both," Draco said, sighing. "We'll do the Cruciatus one first – you can't stir for extended periods if you're trembling like a bloody leaf."

She scowled and forced herself rigid.

"Stop that!" he said sharply. "You'll make it _worse_, Granger. Just shake, it's fine – once we've gotten that done, we'll brew the antivenin, and test samples of it on what you gave him, see what's wrong."

"Do we have all the ingredients?" Hermione asked, thinking specifically of Nagini's venom.

"The list is fairly basic, but if you don't have these, I have...wormmint we'll need, though, unless you have some, there might be some at the apothecarist in Knockturn Alley, and..." Draco hesitated. "Nagini – but my father has some stored for Severus, in the basement. I can retrieve it."

Hermione winced. "I don't have any, and that will cost a bit, won't it? I read that wormmint is fairly expensive to prepare."

Draco shrugged. "It is, but I can cover it."

"But it's for the Cruciatus potion." Hermione frowned. She wasn't overly familiar with Draco's non-arse expressions, but he looked almost embarrassed. He shrugged, and she let it go. She didn't have a lot of money at the moment, and could at least make this easier on him. "I'll go into Knockturn to get it – no sense in you being seen there, and I've gotten fairly decent at disguise spells."

"That works, then." He rose from the Headmaster's chair – Professor Snape's chair – and she hopped off the desk, steadying herself against a curiously empty pedestal as her legs trembled. "Come on, Gran-Hermione. The sooner we're out of here, the sooner we can begin."

It was odd, being on a first-name basis with Draco Malfoy, but at least he was trying. A final glance at the Headmaster's Office, and they departed, watching the gargoyle take its place to seal the office again.

After Hermione'd changed her appearance, Draco'd head to the Manor to retrieve what he could, and they'd meet back at her house.

* * *

Severus wondered how long they'd been gone, and if they'd been able to find the space under the floorboard. His journals were in there, with the – except, no, he'd taken those to Hogwarts, to surreptitiously dose students the Carrows would inevitably torture. Fuck.

Well, Granger was there. She was, at the very least, intelligent. With any luck, she'd take Draco with her to Hogwarts. As a fail-safe, he'd asked the office to seal itself against anyone but Potter – it was to allow him access whenever it was necessary, as well as anyone with him, and against anyone who didn't have the password.

The password was amusingly easy, he thought. He knew he'd be able to trust one person, and should all go well, she'd be the one to try to get in. She was a swot, a know-it-all, and would probably think she could guess his password. She couldn't, of course, but sooner or later someone would get angry at her, frustrated, whether for her inability to give up shouting at the gargoyle, or for being in the castle. Minerva, probably, he could see her now, stalking up the hallway to find Granger calling out various things, and her thick Scottish brogue would ring over the stones - It was simple, it was brilliant. "Hermione Granger!" she'd say briskly, and the office would open.

Call it a farewell present, if he hadn't survived.

And, Merlin, when was the last time Draco had been in his home...?

_He'd been quite young, only a ten or eleven months if he recalled correctly– and Narcissa had just miscarried. She'd been only a few months along, but she and Lucius had been devastated. Severus hadn't been able to help – his potions had assisted her to conceive originally, but nothing could help her keep it._

_Instead, he'd taken to watching Draco. He learned how to change a bloody diaper – nasty business – and feed the boy. The atmosphere at the Manor had been...inhospitable, and Draco'd seemed disturbed. For some reason, Severus had thought that Spinner's End would be better. And it was, albeit marginally. _

_Draco had been a good child; quiet, well-behaved, and inquisitive. It'd been a surprisingly nice day in May when they'd been in the tiny, cramped backyard, Draco on an old blanket, and Severus sitting in the browned grass next to him. As he was too young to understand, he'd initially changed from robes to a jumper and trousers, but had removed the jumper in the warmth of the sun. He didn't want to roll up his shirtsleeves._

_For lack of childish material, he was reading a potions book aloud to Draco, who made happy noises and dug in the dirt, when there was a loud bang. Draco began to cry, and Severus jumped to his feet, scooping him up and carting him into the house, wand in hand._

_Warding the house and his godson, he looked out the windows. A thick plume of smoke was rising from across the weathered park, along with the Dark Mark itself. Alarmed, Severus added a net of magic to keep Draco in place, and, Disillusioned, began to run._

_When he reached the smoke, his fears were confirmed. The Evans house was aflame, the front wall blown in, the door already consumed. Had they both been home? There, yes, two bodies, as if heading for the garage. Amidst the crackle of the fire, he fancied he heard – there it was again! The cry of a baby. Worse, there was a modified anti-Apparition ward draped over the house. Which meant someone was stupid – and trapped._

_Heedless of the smoke and flame, he charged the garage door, breaking both the Disillusionment and it as he tumbled into the room, coming face to face with the end of Lily's wand._

"_Sev?" Her face was soot-and-tear-streaked, but she was beautiful, and she held Harry in a death grip. She doused him with a stream of water. "You were smoking."_

"_You're an idiot, Lily," he said, scowling. "What the fuck were you doing here? Dumbledore assigned you a safe house for a reason!"_

"_I didn't think they'd come here! I thought if they did, they'd think I'd go when Harry was one!" She helped him to his feet. "My parents, are they -"_

"_Save it. We'll have to Apparate out." The air was starting to get thicker, and Harry coughed. _

"_You don't think I already tried that?"_

_He gave her a sad look. "You don't have the Mark, Lils."_

"_Oh, Sev..." but she took his outstretched arm, and he spun, Apparating to the backyard of Spinner's End._

_The landed and Lily collapsed, sobbing. "They're dead! My parents are dead! You wouldn't have left them if they weren't!"_

"_Inside," he hissed, taking Harry from her, then grabbing her by the arm. He pulled her up and into the house. "Inside, Lily, not where the Muggles can hear you."_

"_Mum and Dad are gone!" She sobbed brokenly, collapsing onto the couch in the living room. It cut at Severus's heart to see her distraught, but there was nothing he could do. "It's my fault...all my fault...I was selfish, and stupid...and now they're gone because they tried to save me, hide me..."_

"_And they did." Severus dispelled the wards around Draco, shot a cleansing charm at Harry, and put him on the rug. "Yes, Lily, it was your fault. I told you that you were targeted – who knew you were coming here today?"_

"_No one! I didn't even tell James – he's out with Sirius, with that bloody cloak -" With a sigh, Severus dropped next to her and gathered her close. He didn't want to hear about Potter right now, or about Black, not while she was hurting. He didn't know how to comfort. This was her fault. She'd left the safe house, hadn't made arrangements for her parents, clearly... Lily, smelling of smoke and charring, sobbed into his shirt and he ached. _

_There was nothing he could do. He couldn't turn back time, or bring her parents back. They'd sent her to the garage, at least, and given her a chance. She was safe, she was alive... "Shh, Lily, I'm sorry, but they're gone, and crying won't change that."_

"_I should call the Aurors," she managed, green eyes red-rimmed but still vibrant and beautiful. _

"_No," he said sharply. "You don't think the Dark Lord has ears in the Ministry? The moment you do so, you and Harry will be taken away for 'questioning', and you'll fall right into his hands, Lily."_

"_Will you -" she began, but he cut her off._

"_And what? Call the Aurors, have them interrogate me? Have the Dark Lord wonder why his 'trusted servant' has reported a crime against Muggles, Lily? As much as I hate my position, there's nothing I can do." The last was a helpless hiss, and he stared at the boys on the carpet. At least they seemed unaffected by events._

_In fact, they were examining each other curiously. He snorted, the best laugh he could manage at the moment, and Lily looked down, startled._

"_Um...Sev? Is there something you need to tell me about...?" At least it had distracted her from her grief._

_He scowled. "This is my other godson, Draco Malfoy."_

"_Oh! You told me, I just...they let you bring him here?" She looked around in disbelief. Ah, yes – he'd never let Lily into his house as a child. _

_It hadn't improved much._

"_I am not divulging their personal lives, even to you," he said softly. "Suffice to say, he needed watching that was not done by house-elf, regardless of how attached the creature is to the boy."_

_They watched the boys crawl around and interact as the sound of sirens filled the air, then stopped abruptly as Obliviators clearly arrived on scene._

"_I can't know what happened, can I?" Lily asked, transfiguring a nearby cushion into a plush toy. She seemed numb – when Potter 'broke the news' to her later, she'd be able to grieve properly._

"_No, and nor can I – you know I must hide all of this from Dumbledore. He has his own machinations." He'd spent too long being mistreated as a student while the Headmaster turned a blind eye to trust the man. He would do the right thing where he could, and protect the boy for Lily, not Dumbledore._

"_I know. Thank you, for keeping secrets for me and Harry." Lily gave him a wan smile, watching as Harry and Draco examined the toy. "You know...for a Malfoy, he seems like a sweet kid."_

"Professor?" Granger's voice intruded on his thoughts. He wished he could hold his breath in anticipation – had they gotten what they needed?

"Sorry to disturb you, sir; I wanted to let you know that we found your journals. Draco's insisting that we do the Cruciatus potion first...I'm sorry that you'll be like this longer than I'd like you to be." Her fingers brushed his hand, then she gripped it. "We'll figure it out – Harry sent me an owl, by the way. He's working with Kingsley to clear you. We'll make sure you're kept free. I won't let them lock you up, not after all you've done for us."

"Hermione! Get down here and _eat_!" Draco's voice cut in on her and she sighed.

"I don't care how bloody depleted I was," she muttered mutinously. "I'm sick to death of _eating_!"

Merlin's beard, if the Draco was still forcing meals down her throat, she'd run her magic dangerously low. Most witches and wizards had hearty appetites to match their expenditure – granted, she was half-starved to hear Phineas tell it, so that factored in... _How strong were her wards, that she's so damaged_?

He told himself he wasn't overly-concerned, merely touched that she'd risk herself and open her home to Draco – for _him_. And his godson was, surprisingly, investing effort to restore her. Lily had been right. He could be a sweet kid, sometimes.

* * *

Short chapter, but, yay backstory.


	18. Chapter 18: Interlude

**Author's Note: It's short, but I hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

**Chapter 18: Interlude**

"Lav?" Brown eyes blinked, unfocused. "Lav, can you hear me? It's me, Ron – you're in St. Mungo's – I'll call a Healer..."

Ron reached across her, brushing his fingers over the little enspelled orb by her hand. A soft chime sounded, but Lavender didn't seem to register it. He wondered if she was fully awake, or if she was still partially drugged.

He got his answer a moment later when she suddenly thrashed and started screaming. It was like she was trying to throw Greyback off again, and he was suddenly back at Hogwarts. He swore he could smell spellfire.

"Lav! Lav, it's Ron... you're okay, we won, it's okay, you're safe, I swear it, it's okay!" A Healer came running into the room, pushing past him in a flurry of lime green robes. Sinking back into 'his' chair, he watched as diagnostic spells were cast, the parchment at the foot of her bed unrolling for the quill that skimmed across it, and a memo shot out the door.

Feeling heartsick, Ron was helpless as they gave her some potions before she sank back into slumber. Had Bill screamed like this, after his attack? Had Fleur been there? He couldn't imagine Bill – his brother, the curse breaker, so strong and cocky, reacting like Lavender was.

Thinking of Bill made him think of Fred – bowing his head, Ron finally began to cry, shoulders shaking with sobs.

* * *

"I can't take that, it smells disgusting!"

"Just take it – it's supposed to stop the problems you've been having."

She gagged at the smell. "Seriously, I can't."

He sighed, and charmed the vial. "Take it."

She downed the contents with a shudder. "Oh, that's revolting."

"You're welcome," he sniped. "Tomorrow we can start the antivenin."

He paused in corking the vial as she suddenly started to shake.

"You...foul..._git!_" She collapsed and he caught her, leaning her against him.

"Sorry – I should have given it to you upstairs." Hermione trembled violently, and he awkwardly maneuvered them towards the stairs. "Come on, Granger, you can make it... first foot, there you go...now the second..."

"I'm going to kill you," she managed.

"Less talking, more moving." He huffed out a breath and shifted her, trying to get her up the stairs. "Shite, you're heavy."

"Magic." Her eyes were wild, jaw set between words.

Chewing nervously at his lip, Draco considered it. If Granger was telling him to use magic, it must be okay – she used it yesterday, and had the house under Fidelius, in any case...

"Please – I can't..." She convulsed and he swore, flicking his, well, Mother's, wand at her right before she hit the ground.

"Hold on," he said. Merlin, he didn't remember it being this bad for Father. But then, Mother had administered it and ushered him from the room so she could 'assist him in disrobing'. His own experience with the Cruciatus had been minimal, and he hadn't required the potion. Certainly, he hadn't known it was anything like this. "I didn't know, I swear -"

"It's okay..." Her words were starting to slur as her hand rose, and her fingers were gentle and warm on his cheek. She felt exactly like Mother, when he had been small and ill. No difference between the two.

Shaking himself, Draco levitated her convulsing body up the stairs to the room across from Severus's. Had his godfather taken this potion himself? Who had cared for him then, the way Granger was now by keeping him in her home? Had he been alone in the dungeons of the school, shaking and sweating like she was?

Depositing her carefully on the bed, he draped a nearby black blanket over her small frame. "It'll be okay, Hermione. You'll stop hurting, it'll be alright."

She didn't answer, and he fled the room, unable to keep watching her suffer. It was easier to just go clean the cauldron and tidy the lab.

Without magic.

* * *

Having had escape plans drilled in his head for a year by Hermione, Harry opened the window of the attic room, setting his broom down next to him. Next came the Pensieve, carefully placed between piles of skeletons from Buckbeak's meals.

He hadn't wanted to do this at the Burrow, or known how to explain to the Weasleys that he'd stolen Dumbledore's Pensieve. Too much chance of being interrupted before he could suss out the information he wanted.

Really, how hadn't he considered this before?

But first, he'd have to test it. Thinking of the photo of himself on the toy broom, he put his familiar wand against his temple, concentrating. Oh, that was odd, pulling the memory. It was faint as he placed it into the liquid of the Pensieve.

Taking a breath, more out of nerves than anything else, he plunged his face in.

Harry ducked inside the memory as he saw his own chubby form rocket towards him on a small broom.

"_James! Not when I'm writing, I told you! He's – oh, bugger, he knocked it over!" Laughter, bright and vibrant, rang out and he turned to see his mother seated in a chair, quill in hand._

"Mum..." But she was a memory he was standing in, and she couldn't see or hear him.

"_He's a natural, Lils – he could be a Chaser one day, maybe a Seeker!" James was grinning, waving his wand at the shards of what had once had clearly been a truly ugly vase before Harry'd knocked it over. Childish gurgles of happiness accompanied Harry's own reappearance, and Lily grabbed a camera from the writing desk._

His father...he seemed happy. It was hard to hate his father, but he couldn't connect with him, either, not after all he knew. He seemed like a decent fellow, though.

"_Bring him over! We'll take a photo for Sirius, send a copy to Alice, maybe, it's been ages since she's seen him -" She jumped backwards as James darted after Harry playfully._

She was beautiful, so alive, and Harry felt his throat tighten. His mother was so happy, smiling despite being stuck in the house, watching her husband and son play together. She snapped the photo, green eyes dancing.

"_C'mon, Harry, fly to Mummy, little man!"_

_James grinned, pushing unruly hair back away from his face. "He's got as much energy as you do."_

"_James!" Lily admonished playfully as he scooped up Harry before he could knock into a gray cat. Pudgy fingers reached for the broom as his parents kissed._

They seemed so...happy. Harry looked around the room – cards, presumably from his own first unremembered birthday, decorated the mantle. There was a pot labeled "Floo Powder", decorated with what seemed to be his own hand prints in bright paint.

He ached, watching his parents set him back on the broom and indulge him on a flight around the room, weaving between James' legs.

"_Look at him go!" _

"_Smile for Mummy, Harry!" _The camera flashed and Harry turned his face away to the writing desk. Curious, he moved towards it. There was a letter lying open, blocked from the rest of the room by a Charms book. It seemed to be the next one in her queue, as the outgoing pile had a sealed envelope to Remus, and another for an -rlene under that. _"Good boy! Look, James, he has his daddy's smile!"_

'_Dear Sev,_' it read, and Harry was startled. She was writing to Snape? _'Stop being such a grump. Teaching won't be nearly as aggravating as you think it will, you know. You're brilliant at Potions , and you did a good job teaching me, after all! By the way, thank you for the little knight figurine. Harry's a little young for it yet, but he'll grow into it, for sure. Because it's Muggle, James thinks it's from Tuney, who's still not talking to me, not after Mum and Dad's funeral. Were you able to go? Albus wouldn't let me go, nor would he let James attend the ones for his own parents. He was devastated. Changing topic from him... I tried the remedy you mentioned for Harry's stuffy sinuses – worked like a charm! I should have expected as much from the youngest Potions Master ever! Unfortunately, I haven't been able to –_ here, the letter ended as she had clearly jumped up to intervene with James and baby Harry.

Confused, he watched himself a moment longer, how happy a _family_ they were, as the memory ended and he found himself sitting on the attic floor of Grimmauld Place, tears running down his cheeks.

Just as well that he'd gone with a more innocuous memory than the one he burned to see, really, if this was his reaction to something so mundane.

He wondered if when he cried he looked more like her or him.

* * *

Wow, Harry, that wasn't the memory you were supposed to pull. What the hell.


	19. Chapter 19: Discoveries

**Author's Note: Enjoy :) Also – I got the photos from my photographer! There's a new link in my profile if you want. :)**

* * *

**Chapter 19: Discoveries**

"How's it looking?" Hermione asked as Draco set the stirring rod down.

"Not bad – at least this part's easy. It needs to simmer a few hours, then we can add Nagini's venom."

"And then?"

He sighed. "Then it sits for another two days, according to his notes."

Hermione frowned. "Mr. Weasley's didn't take that long."

"Severus wrote this out – the bloody snake was augmented by the Dark Lord after that. He wanted the bite to be _fatal_," Draco retorted. He sighed again, running a hand over his brow.

She nodded thoughtfully, looking him over. "You look tired – I've got sandwiches upstairs."

Draco groaned. "More sandwiches?"

She shrugged. "That's what I have on hand. And what I can afford right now; besides, you _really _don't want to attempt to eat my cooking, I've been told."

"The Weasel?" He followed her up the basement steps, and she tried not to be irritated. Really, she could _hardly_ expect him to drop every prejudice over the course of a week. Well, she could try, but that was just daft.

"I can cook," she said defensively. "Just not as well as Mrs. Weasley."

"So I was right." The smug look was back on his aristocratic face. "Look, I took the liberty of converting some galleons to whatever your Muggle currency is. Let's get a hot lunch. We have time to kill."

Hermione recognised a peace offering when she saw it; he was genuinely sorry for the Cruciatus potion's effects, as well as hounding her about eating and the like. But he was Draco Malfoy, and his version of an apology was to not mention it and make a gesture.

She deliberated, chewing on her lip. Finally, she sighed. "Alright. Let me go tell him we're leaving, and we'll get lunch."

"It's not like he can hear us," he scoffed, and Hermione shrugged again.

"If he can, then it's polite. If he can't, it makes me feel better." The trip up and down the stairs was quick, and then they were standing in the living room.

"Remember, Draco – no magic, and don't even _mention_ Professor Snape, or being here, none of it."

"Do you think I'm that stupid?"

She gave him a dirty look. "You know I don't. We'll Apparate, then walk from there."

When she held her arm out expectantly, he sighed but took hold, and they spun into an alley near a Muggle shopping center. A flock of sparrows took off, startled at their sudden appearance, and one very nearly shat on Draco.

Hermione laughed. "It's okay, they missed... come on, then...Oh, I really should have made you change first – too late now."

"Change?" Draco lifted a blonde eyebrow. "This is perfectly acceptable."

"Oh, yes, a suit that's not-quite Muggle. If anyone asks, we'll just say you're in fashion school."

"Fashion school," he replied flatly. "There's a school for learning to dress yourselves? Are all Muggles that daft?"

She gave him a queer look. "No – school for designing and creating clothes. Setting fashion trends, Draco."

"Really?" He seemed interested and she gave him an exasperated look.

"Depending on how much money you brought, I can take you to a bookstore and _show_ you. But now, as you're so keen to remind me, we need to eat. Do you have a preference?"

"Um."

"Eloquent."

"Shut it, Granger."

* * *

Severus sat back in his mind, looking at the walls he'd built around his mind. They were...stronger, in a way. But he still felt weak. It couldn't be due to the loss of the memories – he'd taken memories out several times in the past and never had a problem.

Probing his own mind, he found nothing. Just the tattered edges where memories should go, and the strong walls guarding his thoughts. He wondered how far along Draco and Granger had gotten with the antivenin, and tried not to think if if would work, and if so, would the world welcome or revile him?

Revile, most likely.

Growling mentally in frustration at being caged in his own body, he brushed over his magic, then recoiled at the noxious feel.

Oily, insidious; it crept along his power, twining into it, draining the magic to...somewhere. He couldn't tell.

_What the fucking hell is that?_

* * *

After the fiasco two days ago with sending himself into tears, Harry finally made his excuses to the Weasleys and returned to Grimmauld, determined to this time pull the other memory. He'd sat and cried in this very attic, pulling the memory of him and his parents. He'd tried for anything, any other little scrap of memory from his first year, and came up blank, except for the small snippets he did manage – he'd taken his photo book from Hagrid and had managed a moment or two of sound or voice relating to the visual memory, but nothing nearly as concrete as the broomstick.

Was it because he'd been older? He remembered Fleur telling Bill that babies didn't see well for the first several months, albeit vaguely. He could have remembered that wrong.

Nevertheless, Harry had brought a handkerchief this time, rather than have Molly scold him again for a snotty shirtsleeve. He'd also brought a vial to save the memory in, if needed.

It didn't make sense, that gap in Snape's memories – one minute he was _at_ Godric's Hollow, holding his mum, and the next, he was acting like he hadn't known with Dumbledore. Which meant that if Harry could pull his _own _memory, he could either exonerate Snape... or condemn him.

Taking a deep breath, Harry put the familiar length of holly to his temple, concentrating. He could remember the screams of his mother and father thanks to the Dementors, and he thought hard. He had to know...

The memory followed his wand's path, long and thin, glinting silver in the fading attic sunlight. It sat in the Pensieve, and he stared at it, trepidation lining his face. He wanted to know but he didn't want to know.

Harry squared his shoulders and shot off a Patronus. He probably shouldn't be doing this alone, anyway.

He waited. Played with the vial of Snape's memories, rolling it in his fingers. They were beautiful, all silver and mist, if you disregarded the blood smudging the glass. His throat tightened as he heard feet on the stairs. Soon he wouldn't be able to put it off.

"Lav woke up briefly," was Ron's greeting as he clambered into the attic. "Whatcha need, Harry?"

Ron looked awful, and Harry opted not to say so. "You remember Snape's memories?"

"Of course." Ron tinged a bit green under the freckles. Harry nodded rapidly. "Why? Did you – did you find more?"

"Sort of...this one's mine." He jerked his head towards the Pensieve. "There's a gap... in the memories and it doesn't make any sense."

Ron frowned, sitting next to him on the dirty floor, flicking his wand to vanish a small pile of bones. "Between the Hollow and Hogwarts, y'mean?"

"Yeah."

"And you pulled – oh, Merlin's saggy drawers, Harry!" Ron prodded the liquid of the Pensieve with his wand. "You can't look in there alone, mate."

"I was hoping you'd say that." Harry's mouth twisted into a rueful smile.

"Well, good thing I'm here. Let's find out of the greasy git was lying."

Together, they leaned into the Pensieve, swirling down, down, down into Harry's memory, the edges somewhat blurred as they heard James shout at Lily to take Harry and run. Ron's hand clasped his as they followed her up the stairs, babe clutched in her arms.

"_I'm so sorry, Harry," she murmured, setting him in the crib. "Mummy loves you so much..." She raised her wand, casting protective spells at him. Then, curiously, she snapped her wand._

"Sets the magic," Ron said, awed. "That's really...that's really a last-ditch effort, you know, breaking your wand willingly to protect someone with all of your life and essence. That's _really_ old magic."

Harry didn't know – didn't care how Ron knew. Lily was kneeling know, grasping the bars of his crib.

"_I love you, Harry," she said. "You'll be taken care of, I promise – your godfathers will always watch over you. Mummy loves you. Daddy loves you..."_

He heard the sound of spells, the thud of a body – his father – hitting the carpeted hall. They watched as Lily looked back, stricken, and rose, putting herself squarely between Harry and the door as it creaked open.

Voldemort was... handsome still, thick hair and red eyes in his robes. Still, the air of lunacy from splitting his soul was there, the stench of evil followed him. A glance at Ron revealed that they were both fruitlessly grasping their wands out of reflex.

"_Stand aside."_

At least he'd kept his part of the bargain with Snape, Harry thought wildly. Didn't care about him or his father, but had asked for her life. What lies had he spun for Voldemort to acquiesce? But Lily hadn't moved, even as Voldemort told her again – she trembled and Harry tried vainly to reach her, his hand passing through the curtain of red hair as she fell.

Harry couldn't watch as Voldemort turned on him – on Harry – and stared down at Lily's form. She lay just as she had in Snape's memories, eyes open and vacant, turned somewhat towards the door, towards James...he heard himself wailing.

"I don't see Snape," Ron said thickly. Harry nodded, but then, miraculously, they heard the creak of a door, soft steps on the stairs. The quick-hush breathing that Harry remembered making in the Chamber when he'd been unsure if he'd find Ginny still alive. He knew the fear the other man must be feeling, and knew the anguish that had been present in his memories.

"Bloody hell," Ron said, helpful as ever. They watched as Snape staggered, making a wounded sound in his throat, low and keening. "He was there."

Harry wanted to cry watching him. They could _see_ the heart they'd accused him of never having breaking. Trembling fingers closed her eyes and he gathered her close, sobbing. Lightning crashed, and Harry blinked back tears. Ron made a choked sound next to him.

_It seemed like so long that he held Lily as Harry wailed in the crib, face red and the fresh new scar crimson against his skin. When the sobs turned to gasps, Snape seemed to master himself, and, curiously, he put her as he'd found her._

Snape's memory had stopped before this, and Harry forced himself to pay attention now. Would he try to harm him as a babe?

"_I'm sorry; I failed you, I should have been here sooner," he murmured to her, fingers trailing along her hand almost absently. "I could have stopped him, delayed him, raised the wards so you could have all fled..."_

_He lifted his head, as if surfacing grief. "Harry."_

_Snape rose, turned, and reached into the crib, picking Harry up. "Hush now, I'm here."_

_Curiously, Harry stopped crying, reaching a hand up to his nose. Snape actually smiled. _

"_That's right, Harry, it's Sev, it's alright, he's not going to hurt you again if I can help it. It's okay." _

"He knows where everything is," Harry said to Ron, watching as he unerringly retrieved clothes and diapers for Harry. They both spun around with a shocked giggle.

"Harry – _Snape_ is changing your nappy!"

It was so...wrong, to be doing such a mundane thing while his parents lay dead, but Snape sat in the rocking chair, holding Harry as if he'd done it several times.

"_I can't stay with you," he murmured to the boy. "Don't give me that look – someday you'll learn about all of this and you will either like me or loathe me. Maybe you will learn of Pensieves and thoughts and see this, so I shall be quite frank with you – I cannot stay, and you will forget me. I cannot be here for you as I'd like – but I will always protect you. I'll make sure Albus has someone to watch you – your aunt's a frigid bitch, but she won't actually cause you harm."_

_Harry made a soft sound, a yawn, not seeming to really listen._

"_Albus can't know I'm your godfather, I promised her that much," he told him seriously, then seemed to choke on grief again, studiously avoiding looking at Lily. "And Black – Black has betrayed you. Do not trust him, Harry, please..."_

_He rose, walking with Harry to the crib, sadness and loss and pain etched across his face. Plucking a little knight figurine from the shelf, he pocketed it. "I'll make sure you get this, something to remember me by. You are loved – remember that."_

_Snape paused, looking down at Harry, who looked confused. He knelt, left a lingering kiss on Lily's cheek. He paused in the hall and closed James' eyes, too, then fled the house._

The memory ended as Harry began to wail again, a sound of loss and fear and loneliness.

Harry looked at Ron, then down at the Pensieve.

"A knight?" Ron asked, swallowing hard. Harry nodded.

"I still have it – I thought it was maybe one of Dudley's old toys or something. It's strictly Muggle." His heart was pounding as they avoided mentioning the obvious revelation.

Snape was his _godfather_. Him and Sirius both.

"Well," Ron said. "_Snape_. Bloody hell, Harry. You-Know-Who in your head, Snape and a convict for godparents... Merlin's knees."

Harry stared at Ron.

"Harry – you do realise this makes a lot more sense? He followed you around, told you to go out and play, harassed us when we slacked off... Hell, he was mean to 'Mione when we were on outs, remember how we'd suddenly all forgive each other? And the Willow incident? Bloody _hell_, Harry – we were wrong... he wasn't being a git! He was acting like your ruddy _dad_!"

That was the final straw, and they broke into helpless laughter at the thought of Snape changing nappies and chasing around a toddler. The stress and pain seemed to melt away – he was glad he'd asked Ron for help.

When they'd finished, the sun was lower and Ron heaved a sigh. "Also explains how he knew everything."

"Everything?"

"Yeah, following us around like a bloody bloodhound. That's a powerful godfather bond, mate. Bill's godfather had a strong one with him, to hear Mum tell it. Bill wandered off one day, and the old guy got real quiet for a bit, then got straight up and began walking. Found Bill not fifteen minutes later – absolutely filthy, broken leg... but the two of them were as happy as ever."

Harry frowned. "Sirius never mentioned a bond."

"Doubt he even considered it then – you need to build it before the kid's a teen," Ron said. "I'm starving, by the way. Can Kreacher make us some soup?"

"Probably." He shrugged, dusting off his jeans. "Tell me more about the bond."

"Alright." Ron stuck his wand in his back pocket and followed him down the stairs. "The way Bill explained it – I don't really have a godfather, see, the old guy died when I was two – is that it works on a mutual feeling. Bill and the guy totally adored each other. Think of Snape – Draco's his godson, right? They had this respect thing, so I reckon that worked. And you two... you started off _hating_ him, right? So he gave it right back."

"He did it on purpose," Harry said, stopping suddenly on the steps. "You're pretty brilliant, Ron."

The red-head grinned. "Don't tell 'Mione. I think she'd be upset that I knew something she didn't."

"No wonder I went to the Pensieve," he mused. "I'd wondered why I just...went, if I'd hated him so much."

"Probably – a last-ditch effort on his part to get you help. Ah, hell, now I can't hate him." Ron looked disgruntled and rapped on the kitchen door. "Kreacher? Any chance of lunch?"

Harry smiled – it was nice to see Ron back to himself, after a fashion. He'd go see Kingsley after lunch, see if they could clear Snape's name now that they had proof that he'd been on their side for far longer than anyone had thought.

* * *

Ron sort of wanted to play in this chapter, sorry. :)


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